My Probie's Keeper
by usa123
Summary: When a protection detail goes wrong, how far will one agent go to protect his partner? Tony & McGee friendship. No slash, no ships.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: NCIS isn't mine, but the storyline is with the exception of a small subplot (nod to J. Larry Carrol). Any other resemblance to actual characters, or other stories posted on this site is entirely coincidental. So don't sue. Please and thank you._

* * *

"McGee, this is the twenty-sixth house and not _one_person has seen _anyone_fitting this description," Tony DiNozzo groused to his partner Timothy McGee as he picked up the twenty-sixth knocker on as many doors and dropped it twice. They had received a tip this morning that Susanna Carson, the housekeeper of the infamous Salvatore Iniguez who was thought to have ordered the hit on Naval Officer Tom Jackson three weeks ago, was seen in the area. NCIS had rushed to Montgomery County, Maryland to follow up on the anonymous tip, and since early this morning had been subjected to general rudeness from the homeowners who did not appreciate being woken at the ungodly hour.

"Yeah, Tony and it would probably be many more if the shopkeeper hadn't seen her turn this way," Timothy McGee responded as he thumbed his iPhone and the deed to the house appeared on the tiny screen. This particular lot had been empty for at least six months, though there was no sign of a realtor's lock box or other signs that the house was up for sale.

"What is with the civilians anyway?" Tony continued, as he pressed his ear to the door and twisted the knob. Locked. He dusted his hand off and headed across the lawn for the next house. "They offer as much detail as they remember but half of it turns out to be wrong. Why volunteer information if you're not sure it's correct?"

"It's a psychological effect stemming from the witness's desire to please the—" McGee began, glad to impart some of the information he was forced to learn in his college psychology class.

"I don't care, McFreud," Tony snapped. "Their _helpful_tips just added an additional three hours of work for us. This is the last house on the block and no sign of Carson. Zero, zilch, nada—"

McGee's phone rang at that exact moment, truncating any further translations of "zero".

"It's Ziva again," he announced after checking the Caller ID. Tony leaned casually against the mailbox and pretended not to eavesdrop on the conversation. "You find anything?"

"Nothing, McGee. It is a dead doormat over here."

"It's _dead as a doornail_, Zee-vah," Tony couldn't help correcting, raising his voice so he could be heard over the line.

"I think she meant dead end, Tony. Right, Ziva?" McGee offered.

Ziva responded with a phrase in Hebrew that required no translation on McGee's part to understand its meaning.

"No leads over here either," McGee added hastily, before he found out whether it was possible for the assassin to kill him over the phone. "We're on the last house."

"Do you realize what this is McGee?" Tony breathed in realization while he waited for his partner. "It's _the Last House on the Left_._"_

"Sorry, Ziva, I can't hear you," McGee said, shooting a pointed glare in Tony's direction.

"Not really my kind of movie. Kind of got tricked into watching it…" Tony shrugged, motioning with his head toward the phone as Ziva began speaking again, slowly and more clearly than before.

"We are on the last house as well. Gibbs says to meet back at the sedan when you're finished," the Israeli repeated.

"Will do."

"Anything interesting?" Tony asked, knocking on the final door.

"You heard her," McGee retorted, pushing past his partner and knocking twice more.

Suddenly, the door flew open and Tony and McGee were surprised to see none other than Susanna Carson standing in front of them, wearing a dust apron and holding a cordless iron in one hand. "Who is it?"

At the sight of the agents, the woman's eyes widened and she threw the first thing in her immediate reach at the agents: her iron.

Tony and McGee dove for cover as the red-hot iron whooshed between them with only a few inches of air as a cushion. The woman's hands flew over her mouth before she turned and dashed into the house, leaving the front door wide open.

"You okay, McGee?" Tony asked but, without waiting for an answer, he hauled himself to his feet and chased after Carson.

The elderly woman was moving very slowly and he easily passed her, grabbing her arm, twisting her around, and cuffing her in one smooth motion.

McGee trailed not far behind, stopped arm's length away and trained his gun on the woman.

"Looks like the civilian got it right." Tony bit back the _for once_that seemed to fall so naturally at the end of his phrase.

* * *

Gibbs slammed the door to Director Vance's office much to Cynthia's dismay.

Three months ago, Naval Officer Tom Jackson had been killed after interrupting two men unloading boxes from an unidentified ship late at night. One passerby, James Keenan, a preschool teacher with no criminal ties, had witnessed the entire event and immediately called the police. When Jackson interrupted the men, one pulled a .45 and shot him twice in the heart. Jackson had managed to get off one shot as he collapsed and had injured the other man, but not fatally. The two had dropped the boxes they were carrying and had "taken off" as Keenan described it. Keenan had then rushed over to stabilize Jackson, but the Ensign was already dead.

NCIS was given the case and Abby was able to determine that the substance in the boxes was high grade heroin. Keenan's description of one of the assailants had been run through Facial Recognition and had returned a match, one Nathaniel Sheldon, a known associate of crime lord Salvatore Iniguez who had been arrested multiple times on charges that ranged from attempted murder, illegal possession, and indecent exposure, but had not been officially charged. He also dabbled in everything from acquiring illegal prescription drugs to underground poker to drug-running. Keenan gave his statement and had been placed in protective custody pending a trial.

No prints, no security footage and no witnesses led them to a dead end. Gibbs' team was unable to find any other information that connected Iniquez, or Sheldon for that matter, to Jackson's murder. Within hours of NCIS' arrival at the scene, Iniquez and his employees, and even his housekeeper Susanna Carson, had dropped off the grid and hadn't been heard from since.

Until today when a woman matching Carson's description had been spotted exiting a grocery store in Montgomery County, Maryland. A concerned store clerk, who had secret aspirations of joining the FBI one day, had called in the tip after seeing Carson's face plastered over the news.

Carson was currently refusing to talk without protection for her information. Vance had managed to offer temporary protection from NCIS if Carson could divulge something pertinent immediately and would use that information to work with the Marshalls and the Attorney General to nail down something more permanent.

"DiNozzo. McGee," the Lead Agent called from the mezzanine. "Gear up. You're on protection detail."

Tony groaned loudly and rolled his eyes. "_C'mon_ boss. Can't McGee and Ziva handle this one? She's like eighty and is going to sit around all day watching _Jeopardy!_reruns. Besides, I was on the last protection duty with Perry: he annoyed the hell out of me and ended up puking on my new Dolce & Gabanna shoes while Ziva was doing her Annie Oakley impression in the front room. I…"

He stopped as Gibbs fixed him with a deadly stare. "…will be glad to assist Special Agent Timothy McGee is protecting Susanna Carson until the wonderful US Marshalls arrive. When do we leave?"

"After you get a statement from Carson that will convince us that she is worth the protection detail."

Gibbs paused in front of Tony's desk, giving his agent a questioning look. Tony didn't usually undermine his authority so openly. If he was still acting so strangely when the two agents returned, Gibbs would make a point to ask the man about it.

"Let's go Probalicious," Tony sighed. "We've got a grandmother to protect from Salvatore Iniguez, rheumatoid arthritis, osteoporosis and possibly an Alec Trebek obsession."

Tony paused with his backpack halfway to his shoulder as an unpleasant thought occurred to him.

"I refuse to buy her Fixodent or help her remove her dentures though…That's Probie work," he continued with an evil grin, shrugging on his pack and holstering his gun.

McGee shot a concerned look in Gibbs' direction and received only a shrug in response.

"Oh, boss. You're not serious?" McGee asked incredulously, his voice cracking slightly at the end of his question.

"With luck, the Marshalls will relieve you before 1800," Gibbs responded.

"But, boss…"

"You want some cheese with that wine, McGrumble?" Tony called from the elevators where he was leaning against the doors to keep them open. "Hurry up or you're walking to the safe house. It's supposed to snow, so I'd bring a jacket if you're choosing the latter."

"I'm coming Tony," McGee huffed as he grabbed his gear and followed Tony's lead.

"How bad can it be?" Tony asked, clapping McGee on the back as the elevator closed. "It'll be just like the movie _Bullitt_. Of course, I'm Steve McQueen. That makes you either Carl Reindel or Don Gordon. Your pick."

* * *

At 1400, Tony and McGee were about ready to kill each other. Or, more aptly, their witness.

Carson was essentially driving each of them insane. As Tony had predicted, she insisted on watching the latest _Jeopardy!_rerun, followed immediately by the next _Wheel of Fortune_, even though both were reruns from at least five years back when Trebek did not needed a toupee. Not five seconds after first walking into the room, she had examined every square inch of the place and deemed it unfit for human habitation. She proceeded to pull cleaning supplies out of the bathroom, in the process dislodging a rather large dust bunny that only exasperated the situation. Tony and McGee managed to stop her before she pulled a Melvin Udall from _As Good As It Gets_and threw the yapping neighborhood dog into the street with hopes that it would never come back.

It was so terrible, that McGee, who was usually the calm and collected one, snuck out of the house to buy dinner without consulting Tony. In his absence, Carson located the remote Tony had hidden under the couch and turned on the _Price is Right_, cranked up the volume so the show could be heard clearly from any room. Somewhere in between the Bonus Round and the countless other trivial guessing segments, McGee reappeared with the food.

"Nice one, Probie," Tony remarked glibly. "Pick that up sneaking off to late-night computer classes?"

McGee scowled at Tony and chucked the Chinese take-out container at him. "It was that or you'd be another candidate for Witness Protection since you'd've witnessed another murder—hers!"

"I'm kinda proud of you." The younger agent looked up in surprise at Tony's words. "No, really. You've grown up a lot in the last few years, let your true colors shine through. Eight years ago, you wouldn't have even left for the head without asking mom, dad, and scary Aunt Ziva who sits in the corner, reading the latest copy of _Assassin's Monthly_if it was okay_._And look at you now: making your own decisions, not giving a damn about how anyone else thinks…"

"That's awfully nice of you, Tony," McGee replied hesitantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Well, I'd like to think my unorthodox methods had something…well, a lot of somethings…to do with it," Tony said with a self-congratulatory smile.

_Yup, that was more like it,_McGee thought. "Figures," he muttered under his breath. "Tony..."

"Fine, McSnippy. You can have part of the credit. I guess you managed that jetpack case all by your lonesome…"

"DiNozzo!"

"What, McGee?" Tony glared at his partner with mild irritation at being interrupted in the middle of his speech.

"Where'd Carson go?"

Tony didn't even blink at McGee's question.

"She went into the head—" he paused to check his watch, "—eight minutes ago. Somewhere between your overly dramatic entrance and the time you began to hand out food."

"That's an awfully long time to be in there," McGee ventured.

"She's like eighty years old, man. Cut her some—" Tony trailed off as he heard the sound of glass shattering. He spared a quick second for a glance in McGee's direction before drawing his weapon and heading toward the bathroom. McGee reached the door first and cautiously twisted the door handle. It was locked.

"Miss Carson?" Tony demanded. His query was met with silence.

"Susanna?" McGee questioned in a raised voice, just in case the elderly lady hadn't heard Tony's call. He viciously rattled the door knob, willing it to fall open.

All of the sudden, an ear piercing scream pierced the room, a sound Tony and McGee never wanted to hear again. It was such a deep, soulful cry that the NCIS Agents instantly knew their witness was in serious trouble, and they were on the wrong side of the door.

"Miss Carson!" McGee shouted, banging loudly on the door, grasping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Move, McGee!" Tony ordered as he took a step backwards and kicked down the door.

McGee burst through the doorway, gun drawn and the safety off…and walked directly into a cloud of pepper spray.

"Get away from me, you bastard! I'm not going down without a fight!" Carson screamed, continuing to empty her small can directly into McGee's face. She dropped the can in shock, her hands flying to her face when she recognized who had entered.

"Oh my! I'm so…" But the rest of her words were lost as McGee pushed past the woman and began splashing water onto his face, trying to relieve the extreme burning.

Tony saw the cloud billow from the room and turned his head into his shoulder, reaching blindly into the room for the bathroom fan switch, trying to dilute the spray before both NCIS agents were out for the count.

Carson was clearly in shock and shoved Tony out of the way while she headed for the nearest bedroom. She threw her hands over her quickly reddening face in what Tony understood to be an utterly embarrassed gesture, slamming the door closed behind her.

"You okay, McGee?" Tony asked, keeping one eye trained on Carson's bedroom door. He glanced into the bathroom and saw the large skylight had fallen in. It was a freak accident that had probably scared Carson, assuming the women wasn't as tough as she wanted others to think she was. But why hadn't she answered? They had clearly identified themselves as NCIS, so she should have had no reason to fear them…

"I'll just got pepper-sprayed in the face," McGee stated, turning so Tony could see the tears streaming down his tomato-red countenance. "What do you think?"

"Just answer the question Probie. Can you still see?"

"I'll be fine, Tony," McGee responded, turning back to the sink and vigorously splashing water onto his burning face.

"You're sure?" Tony clarified.

"Just go watch Carson. Gibbs will kill us if anything happens to her while you're busy coddling me."

"I'm not coddling!" Tony exclaimed, raising both hands in surrender. "I'm just watching out for my partner. You know Gibbs would kick my ass into next week if I let something happen to you."

Sensing McGee would rather be left alone while his eyes stopped tearing, Tony knocked cautiously on Carson's door.

"Miss Carson?" he asked gently. He pressed his ear to the door and heard loud sobbing coming from the other side. He hated crying women.

Tony was a pretty good judge of character, and he had seen that Carson had been truly embarrassed and afraid when she had run from the bathroom, not cackling in self-induced glee at McGee's injury. If he had this figured correctly, Carson clearly wasn't the hard-case they had originally thought. She had put up a tough front, not wanting to be thought of as easy or defenseless and had done everything in her power to defend herself, though Tony did _not_want to know where she had been hiding that small canister.

But her tears said otherwise. They screamed "upset and confused" not "homicidal and deadly"…he hoped.

"May I come in?"

"Go away." The muffled voice floated through the door and the choking sobs began to settle.

Tony turned the knob, and finding the door open, entered cautiously. "You don't have any more pepper spray, do you?" he joked.

Susanna turned her face away from him and the smile dropped from his face. "It's going to be okay, Miss Carson. Agent McGee is going to be fine. Nothing like a little pepper spray to jump start your day," he tried again to lighten the mood, but Susanna was in no mood for laughing apparently.

He sighed heavily and sat down beside her. "Miss Carson, we're okay. All of us. Agent McGee will be walking in here any minute to see how you are doing."

"I'm…I'm so sorry," she wailed, turning suddenly, burying her head into Tony's shoulder and began sobbing again. "I heard the cracking, then the glass shattering. I thought I was done for. My heart was racing, I couldn't hear anything, and I thought over and over, _I'm gonna die._ _This is it._ When I saw the door rattling, I just reacted. Thought they were coming to finish off the job—I was just protecting myself, honest. I have a life to live, you know — children, grandchildren and my first great-grandchild on the way — one away from the clutches of Señor Iniguez and his men. I agreed to come with you since I thought it would be best to put him away so my family would be safe. But I guess it won't matter since I'll never be able to see them now…"

Tony let out the breath he had been holding. He had been right. Beneath that tough exterior, Susanna Carson was just a lonely old woman putting on a brave front for the two young men guarding her. But he also knew that leopards did not change their spots so quickly, so he and McGee were going to have to be extra careful for the next few hours until the Marshalls arrived.

"Don't worry about that, Miss Carson. You just worry about putting Iniquez away for good, then we'll see what we can do about your protection detail."

Susanna sniffled loudly and pulled away from Tony and fingering the wet spot on his shirt. "I'm really sorry about that. I'm not normally like this, letting people see how I truly feel. I just snapped when I saw the door rattling. I thought I was done for good."

"While you're here, you won't have to worry about that," Tony reassured her, gently removing her hands from his shirt and clasping them in his. "We've got your six."

McGee had been ready to storm into the room, absolutely furious and about to give Miss Carson a piece of his mind, but stopped when he saw the elderly lady weeping openly into Tony's very expensive Armani shirt. Quickly coming to the same conclusions as Tony, he took a moment to calm himself behind the doorjamb before entering.

Susanna pushed herself off the bed and ran over to him.

"I'm so sorry, Very Special Agent McGee. I was scared…are you all right?"

"I'm fine Miss Carson but I need to know if you any other weapons we need to know about."

She took a moment to think. "No, that was it. I'm really—"

"Let's just forget about it, okay?" McGee offered, being a fairly decent judge of character himself. "It wasn't really a big deal. At least we know you can take care of yourself in an extreme circumstance."

"You won't have to worry about me," she confirmed, standing up a bit straighter. "But, do you think we could keep this from the Marshalls? I don't want them to think I'm an easy target, especially since I cried and all…"

"I'm sure we could figure something out," McGee nodded with a questioning look toward Tony who was still sitting on the bed, staring dejectedly at the wet spot on his shirt.

The Kodak moment was interrupted by someone pounding loudly on the door, causing Carson to tighten her grip on McGee and slid behind him in fear.

"U.S. Marshalls!" came the muffled call.

Tony drew his weapon and sprinted back towards the door before McGee could extricate himself from Carson's firm grasp. "I got the door, you take Carson in back," he ordered.

"Why do I have to take—"

"One, you ran out on me earlier. Two, she's clearly not leaving your side anytime soon," he said, waving his hand at Carson who was clutching McGee's shirt tightly with one hand and holding his other hand even more tightly. "Three, I _am_ the Senior Field Agent—I'm pulling rank."

McGee glared at Tony before helping Carson to her feet and escorting her toward the back bathroom which still reeked heavily of pepper spray.

Tony pressed himself against the door, gun raised. He peeked through the peephole, carefully examining the proffered badges.

He checked over his shoulder to ensure that McGee and Carson were no longer in sight before unlocking the door and throwing it open.

"Good to meet you, Sheffield. Davies. You should be careful with this one, she could bring out the homicidal tendencies in Mother Theresa," he announced, not finding a problem with feeding the Marshalls a half-truth. Carson had made the first half of their detail a living hell. The Marshalls didn't tend to play nicely with NCIS in any capacity, so it couldn't hurt to live up to their reputation on occasion.

"We'll take that into consideration," the Marshall called Sheffield replied. Tony shuffled out of the doorway to let the Marshalls into the room, taking a quick glance outside to ensure they hadn't been compromised. Satisfied with the situation outdoors, he closed the door and began to lock it when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked. He spun around, but his reflexes were not faster than a speeding bullet.

An incredibly intense pain radiated through his body as the hot lead tore through his side and lodged itself in the door. Tony flew backwards against the door and slid to the ground, his mind working frantically in an attempt to comprehend the situation. He could feel his body shutting down: his vision was blurring and he could feel himself losing his grasp on reality.

As the world closed down around him, he saw Sheffield standing flush with the wall, out of the sight.

He had set a trap for whomever came around the corner and McGee was going to walk right into it!

* * *

_I'm back! Thanks to all who continued to review and favorite my work during my hiatus. Your kind thoughts were incredibly motivating._

_As always, thanks for reading. Please drop me a line and let me know what you think!_

_Reviews are stories to my Ducky, the Mighty Mouse Stapler to my Tony, the Pooh 2.0 to my McGee, the tattoos to my Abby, the perfectly balanced letter opener to my Ziva, the redhead to my Gibbs and the glasses to my Palmer._


	2. Chapter 2

A loud ringing was a welcome interruption from the paperwork for Carson's protection detail. Gibbs rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers before snapping open the phone.

"Gibbs," he demanded brusquesly.

"Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!" a bright voice intoned over the line, not pausing even for a second. "Where are Tony and McGee? I had a dream about both of them—no, not one of those weird ones…that I haven't mentioned to you until now," she realized, but kept on with her monologue. "But it's really important! They're in trouble—"

Gibbs was already pulling his gun from his desk drawer. "Did they call you, Abs?"

"No," she hesitated. "but I consulted the Ouija board this morning—yes, Gibbs, I know someone in the group pushes the little pointer around so it's, like, totally a hoax, but this time it was just me and I sure wasn't moving the pointer at all. It told me Tony and McGee were in trouble! You need to find out where they are and get over there ASAP. Something big is going down and they need you!"

"Abs—"

"No, Gibbs, listen. I'm dead serious. You need to find them. They are in trouble. Big, big trouble."

Her voice changed from excited to more serious, borderline pleading. "Please, Gibbs. I have this feeling, like the one I had before Kate…" she trailed off, unable to finish her thought.

Gibbs sighed. "I'll go check it out, Abs."

"I'll owe you for forever," Abby promised before hanging up.

Gibbs sighed again as he placed the phone in its cradle, and glanced up to see Ziva hovering over his desk.

"Something is hinky, yes?" she asked.

"Abby thinks so," Gibbs replied, pulling his gun from his desk drawer.

"I think I should go with you. For backup." Ziva stood in the middle of the walkway through the squad room so Gibbs could not pass.

"Nope." Gibbs stepped to one side, but was blocked again by Ziva.

"Perhaps I should clarify – I _am _going with you. They are my partners as well."

"Fine." Gibbs tossed Ziva the keys to the sedan. "You're driving."

* * *

He had to tell McGee. Had to save Carson.

Tony struggled to pull himself to his feet, but his legs unable to support his weight and he fell to his knees, catching himself with his hands before he sprawled on the carpet. He remained on his hands and knees, sucking in air to try to focus his vision.

A mantra floated through his consciousness: DiNozzo's do not give up! _ Finally, his dad had taught him something useful,_ he thought grimly as he gathered his strength to call out to his Probie.

"McG—" The rest of his partner's name was ripped from his mouth as a sharp boot collided with his ribcage, forcing the remaining air out of his lungs. He collapsed to the floor, unable to breathe.

Not yet ready to accept his fate, Tony clumsily reached for his phone, but the same boot came down hard on his hand, keeping it from moving further. Resisting the urge to cry out, he could only watch as McGee came around the corner, gun drawn.

McGee had heard the gunshot and pulled out his phone, immediately dialing Gibbs' number while deciding whether to follow his gut and help his partner or stay and protect Susanna according to protocol. He had waited in tense silence while Susanna cowered next to the porcelain tub. When he heard Tony call half of his name, that was all McGee could stand. Protocol be damned! He was not going to stand here idly while Tony shot off his mouth in the front room and got himself killed trying to protect himself and Carson.

"Stay here!" McGee ordered Carson, his voice deadly low and as Gibbs-like as he could manage. "Any one comes around the corner, not me or Agent DiNozzo, hit him with this," he instructed, handing Susanna the lid from the toilet bowl. Susanna only nodded, grasping the ceramic block and pressing herself deeper into the crack between the toilet and the bathtub.

McGee took another look at his iPhone. The number wasn't going through. Someone was jamming the signal! He was going to have to help Tony out himself.

He took a deep breath and, really wishing Gibbs or Ziva were here with him, rounded the corner, gun pointed at unknown assailants.

Through his rapidly blurring vision, Tony saw Sheffield jump out from his hiding place, and grab McGee's gun with both hands. Tony winced as Sheffield thrust his elbow backwards into McGee's face and the sickening sound of a breaking bone resonated through the room. As McGee's eyes teared up for the second time today, Sheffield wrestled the gun away from the younger agent, following his first blow with another elbow to the stomach. When McGee reflexively doubled over, unable to make out even the men in front of him, Sheffield swung the gun directly into McGee's temple. The younger man dropped to the ground unconscious. Sheffield proceeded to stomp on the phone, shattering it into millions of small pieces not even Abby could reassemble.

"Tim!" Tony managed as he yanked his hand from underneath the man's boot.

Adrenaline flooded through his veins, giving him the necessary strength to make a final move. It was okay—well, not really, but that's what he was telling himself—if this was his last hurrah, but these faux Marshals would not take the witness with them. She was too important to their case. Iniguez had to be brought down. He forced himself back to his hands and knees, he tried again for his phone.

He bit back a yelp as someone grabbed him by the hair and the back of the suit jacket and pulled him to his feet, roughly ripping the phone out of his grasp. This person, presumably Davies, though it was getting hard to tell which Marshal was which, threw him against the wall.

Pain exploded through his head as it cracked against the door. As if not being able to distinguish the two marshals wasn't enough, now there were four undefined blobs in his immediate line of sight. Fleetingly, he was hoping that Carson was smart enough to try to figure out an escape plan. Even in her old age, it wasn't hard to hear that something was wrong in the front room struggle that was taking place in the entryway.

"That's quite a show you're putting on," two of the marshals said. "Your bravery and loyalty to your job is commendable."

"Tell that…to our director…Maybe he'll finally…nominate me for…a medal," Tony responded glibly.

Sheffield drove a fist into Tony's stomach, narrowly missing the gunshot wound and knocking the little wind he had managed to regain out of him. Tony doubled over but was caught by Davies and pushed against the wall again.

Tony focused on breathing for a moment, the rest of the world lost to the buzzing in his ears and his shapeless sight.

Suddenly, Sheffield's voice drifted through the fog. "I asked you: What. Is. Your. Name?"

"How 'bout three shillings…and we forget the name?" Tony quipped, a small grin coming to his face, trying to buy Carson enough time to escape.

"Well, if you're sure," Sheffield snarled before rearing back and viciously backhanding Tony across the mouth.

"I just wanted Ms. Carson to know who was responsible for her untimely death, but I guess 'nameless fool' will do nicely." Even through the haze, Tony could see Sheffield stepping away from him and heading for the backroom.

"Wait! Wait!" Tony called desperately, straining against Davies' grip. He could feel the blood flowing freely down his side and knew it wouldn't be long before he passed out from blood loss.

"I'll make you an offer you can't refuse," he slurred in his best Al Pacino impression, trying to by Carson as much time as possible. "He and Brando were absolutely magnificent in _The Godfather_…"

He was cut-off as Sheffield stormed back toward him, seized his throat and shoved his head against the wall.

"You are an annoying little son-of-a-bitch, you know that?" Sheffield spat.

"M'boss tells me…everyday," Tony replied emotionlessly. Where the hell was Gibbs? The first thing McGee would have done before coming to help would be calling Gibbs. With his boss' driving, it couldn't be long until his boss would get here and save the day.

Sheffield recognized the thoughtful and slightly hopeful look in Tony's eye. "How long do we have?"

Tony didn't respond. Sheffield shook him angrily and repeated the question.

"How. Long. Do. We. Have?"

Tony remained silent, fixing Sheffield with a Gibbs-caliber glare. At least, it was intended to be a Gibbs-caliber glare. Under the present circumstances, it probably passed as an annoying expression.

"It doesn't matter. Susanna will be dead long before they get here." Sheffield pulled his hand back. Tony tried to avoid the punch he knew was coming, but his body wouldn't respond. The punch landed solidly on his jaw, whipping his head to one side.

Davies released him and Tony collapsed to the floor, unable to avoid landing on his injured side. That new knifing pain was all his body could take, and it began to shut down.

Tony's heart sank as he heard the sound of two gunshots in the next room.

Suddenly he was no longer in the safe house. He was on a rooftop, wearing a bulletproof vest, panting for breath. He turned and glanced to his left to see Kate and Gibbs standing next to him. Tony realized where he was and also knew what was going to happen next. He tried to tackle Kate, somehow knocking her out of the way, but he was frozen in place, unable to move as he again watched the bullet from the Lapua pass through Kate's head and felt the warm liquid on his face—Kate's blood; he should have heard the gun being fired, reacted in time to save Kate, but he found himself unable, just a witness to the gruesome scene that unfolded.

Then the scene switched. He was standing in a room that had recently experienced an explosion. He saw Paula Cassidy, still as gorgeous as ever, sprinting off to his left. Tony spun around and saw the man wearing the bomb vest. He took off toward the door, but not fast enough. Cassidy beat him there, tackling Malik back into the room. Then the room shook with an undescribable rumble that would have tossed him to the ground, had he not been pressed directly against the brick wall, pounding on it viciously, praying he could force it open and save Cassidy. He knew what was happening, but again was unable to stop it; if only he'd been faster, been more aware, maybe he could have made a difference.

Again, the scene shifted and Tony was standing in an abandoned diner, staring at an enormous pool of blood, identified by one small piece of paper, folded in half and propped up like a tent that read "Sheppard." He should have listened to Ziva, but was so focused on following directives that he had chosen to ignore his gut. He'd broken Rule #3 and had not double checked what he had been told by the Director. A reasonable decision at the time, but someone with his advance training should have known better, should have acted more professionally, should have been able to change the outcome…

But he had been too late and every time someone else had paid the consequences. He was always too late. Too late to save Carson or any of the others. Too late for Kate, Cassidy, Jenny.

Tony realizing all this for the first time, realizing that he was unable to make changes in the lives of those people he cares about, unable to save the lives of those who truly matter, unable to perform his job at the highest level. He had let down Gibbs, McGee, Carson and a plethora of other people whose faces flashed briefly through his mind as the blackness closed in around him.

These thoughts heavy in his mind, Tony welcomed the impending darkness.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up within the next few days!_


	3. Chapter 3

He couldn't breathe.

McGee rolled onto his back, coughing loudly. There appeared to be some sort of cloud filling the room at an alarming rate, leaving him virtually blind.

The house was on fire! They had to get out of there. But where was Tony? And where was Susanna?

Knowing Tony would rip him a new one if McGee went for him first, he attempted to locate the bathroom where he had last seen Carson. He crawled towards what he considered the back of the house but had to stop when the heat became unbearable.

McGee squinted, seeing the dark, human-shaped blur that was lying at the base of the flame that was radiating from the bathroom floor. Assuming the military crawl, McGee crept forward toward the increasing heat until he was able to just barely reach Susanna's neck without his outstretched fingers and feel for a pulse. There was no movement under his fingers, no indication that there was still life in the woman.

That was all confirmation McGee needed that they had failed their protection duty. He locked his feelings away in the back of his mind and focused on the more important task: finding Tony and getting out of there alive.

Once McGee was a suitable distance from the blaze, he raised himself onto hands and knees and began crawling away from the blaze, ignoring the pounding in his nose. He could worry about the most likely broken bone later. Right now, he had to get out of the house.

He reached out with one hand and discovered the carpet was sticky underneath his limb. He pulled the hand close to his face and saw the scarlet liquid that was covering his hand: blood. With increased urgency, he patted around the area, his gut sinking when his hand landed on a warm body. Tony!

McGee crept closer and saw Tony's ashen face. His eyes quickly travelled Tony's entire frame and saw the seeping bullet wound. The blood was flowing from Tony's side without any signs of slowing, coming to rest on the carpet where it slowly clotted. McGee looked down and noticed, with great alarm, that he was kneeling in a large pool of Tony's blood.

"Tony!" McGee shouted, trying to revive his partner. He would rather Tony woke and helped himself out of the room since McGee was fairly sure he would only end up hurting his friend if he was forced to lift him out of the room.

"I can't carry you, DiNozzo! You need to wake up!"

Still, Tony remained motionless.

The younger agent quickly shed his jacket and managed to wrap it around Tony's waist, knotting it tightly to stem the blood flow.

"DiNozzo!"

"_DiNozzo!"_

Tony's eyes snapped open at the feminine voice—the voice he thought he would never hear again…Yet, there she was, artistically framed against the blinding white light behind her, kneeling over him in that incredibly short Catholic school uniform skirt and the collared blouse open just one button too low.

"How…Where am I? Where is McGee? Where's Carson?" Tony sat up quickly, surprisingly without pain.

He cocked his head to the side. "Am I dead?"

"Not yet," was the response. Tony couldn't help grinning as none other than Kate Todd bent over to inspect his side, allowing him an unobstructed view of her cleavage.

Kate saw his grin and pulled upright, clutching at the collar of her blouse.

"DiNozzo!"

"Sorry, Katie," Tony replied, leaning back on his elbows, not feeling the least bit apologetic.

"Some things never change," Kate huffed. She snapped her fingers and, in an instant, she was wearing a more conservative pant suit. "But _this _I'd never thought I'd see: Tony DiNozzo admitting defeat."

"I failed, Kate." Tony said quietly, squeezing his eyes shut against the memories that threatened to drown him. "Failed McGee, failed Carson, and failed boss. He trusted me with this assignment and I let him down. I couldn't protect her. Couldn't protect you…"

"That wasn't your fault, Tony," Kate shook her head sadly. "Not then, not now. There was nothing you could have done. But McGee is still out there and he needs you. It's up to you: Keep having one of your X-rated hallucinations or wake up and help save McGee. The Tony DiNozzo I used to know would do the latter."

"I haven't changed, Katie," Tony returned, unable to mask the irritation that flashed onto his face. He never thought he would have had a platonic dream featuring Caitlyn Todd, and _never _one where she doubted his dedication to his job and his partners.

"Prove it," Kate grinned as she began fading away, leaving McGee's worried face inches from Tony's chin.

"Too close…McGoo," Tony murmured, taking stock of his surroundings. It was too smoky to get a good look at the Probie, but Tony could see enough to know that McGee's nose was badly broken. Having had a broken nose or two in the past, he could tell by the way McGee refrained from expressing any sort of emotion that his nose was killing him.

McGee sprang back, disappearing from Tony's view as the smoke filled the space between them.

"Let's go, DiNozzo," McGee urged. "The roof isn't gonna hold much longer."

Tony's eyes closed and McGee feared his partner had lost consciousness again. A few seconds later, the Senior Field Agent wrapped his right arm tightly around his torso and reached his left arm toward McGee.

The Probie stood, entwining Tony's hand firmly in his own and pulling the Italian to his feet.

"Susanna…Gotta save…S'na," Tony rasped, staggering toward the back of the house.

"Too late, Tony," McGee coughed. "We have to get out of here!"

"Witness," Tony protested.

"She's gone, Tony."

"No…can't be…" Tony stammered as he stumbled over his own feet and almost fell. McGee hurried forward and caught the older man, slinging Tony's arm over his shoulders.

"We're going, DiNozzo," McGee announced, heading toward the doorway. "McGee's Rule Number One: Never leave a man behind. I'm not going to tell Gibbs I lost both you and Carson - I'd never see the light of day again."

The two were quiet as they struggled forward, hopefully in the general direction of the front entrance.

"Thanks…Tim," Tony croaked, after a long moment.

"Don't mention it," McGee struggled to support both his and Tony's weight as smoke billowed into the room darker and faster than before.

Tony muttered something under his breath, not loud enough to be heard clearly by his partner.

"No Tony! Stay with me! Don't go toward the light!" McGee cried, thinking his partner had said "light". He spared a second to glance at his friend and noted how Tony's eyes were barely open and the speed at which his face was paling.

"No…McDeaf…Right," Tony pointed weakly with his left arm to a spot of light in the distance.

Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, McGee adjusted the course, feeling a warm liquid beginning to trickle down his side. Tony's blood – it was soaking through the jacket. At this rate, Tony had maybe a few more minutes until he lost consciousness. McGee quickened his pace to an awkward hobble, knowing each step brought the two of them closer to safety and medical care.

As they burst through the door both men were surprised to see Gibbs and Ziva racing toward them.

"Carson?" Gibbs asked, slinging Tony's other arm over his shoulder and supporting some of Tony's weight as Ziva ran into the house to try to save Carson.

McGee shook his head. "Gone," he wheezed, hungrily gulping fresh air into his lungs as he helped Tony away from the burning home. He looked around and saw people gawping at the house that was billowing smoke and flames. They hobbled a few more feet before gently laying Tony on the ground.

"Tony!" Gibbs called but he received no response from the listing Senior Field Agent. "DiNozzo!"

"Boss?" Tony croaked weakly.

"No, Santa Claus," Gibbs couldn't help quipping as he pressed the jacket deeper into Tony's side. "Stay with us, DiNozzo."

Tony's lips were moving but no sound was coming out.

McGee bent closer, hearing sirens in the background.

"Messed…up boss," Tony whispered. "Big…time."

"Don't worry about that now, DiNozzo. Just stay with us now. You're going to be fine."

Just then, Ziva came sprinting out of the house.

"Get down!" she shouted, throwing herself as far away from the house as possible.

Gibbs and McGee dove on top of Tony as the side of the house exploded. Splinters went flying everywhere and a small piece of a cabinet pierced the earth inches away from McGee.

Through the dim, Tony saw the bright flash of light and knew what had happened.

"S'na!" he rasped, trying to throw McGee and Gibbs off of him.

"Stay still, DiNozzo!" Gibbs called, returning to pressing down McGee's once white jacket.

"You gotta…"

"She's gone, Tony, and you will be too if you don't stop moving."

"Boss…" Tony's tone nearly broke Gibbs' heart.

"You need to pull through, DiNozzo. You hear me?"

But Tony was no longer listening. The effort he had put into sitting upright proved to be too much for his injured body. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slacked against the ground, giving McGee a few scant seconds to catch his friend before he added another injury to his collection. Gibbs pressed harder on the jacket trying to elicit a response in his agent, feeling the warm blood begin to flow between his fingers, but Tony remained completely still and deathly pale.

"We need help here!" Gibbs yelled to the paramedics who were unloading the gurney. "Now!"

* * *

Elaine Jensen, Bethesda's on-duty nurse, glanced up from her paperwork to see a woman dressed in a black mini-skirt and _Death Eaters _tank top clomp through the entrance wearing black, six-inch military platform boots.

"Can I help you?" Elaine asked, trying to keep the disapproval out of her voice.

"Anthony DiNozzo and Timothy McGee. Where are they?"

Elaine pointed to a wooden door off to the left, having dealt with the rest of this strange family earlier in the day. Nodding her thanks, Abby stomped into the small waiting room to find Ducky browsing a magazine. Unbeknownst to the Goth, Ziva had left a few minutes ago, unable to wait any longer for an update. She volunteered to secure the crime scene to ensure that those who did this to her partners would be caught and justly tried in the American court system that she had come to know and appreciate.

"How are they?" she demanded.

Ducky rose and placed his hands on Abby's shoulders, gently leading her over to an empty seat before taking her hands in his.

"Timothy suffered a broken nose. It is being repaired as we speak and he should be out shortly."

"And Tony?" Abby asked, hesitantly, trying hard to remain calm.

"Our Anthony is in a spot more trouble. He was shot," Ducky paused as Abby gasped loudly, raising her hands to her mouth in shock. "Now, now, my dear. Anthony was quite lucky. The bullet missed his vital organs, and will sustain only a small amount of muscle damage. He was just released from surgery and a doctor Sloan is very hopeful he will make a full recovery."

Gibbs walked into the room in time to hear the last sentence of Ducky's diagnosis. Abby sprang from her seat and enclosed Gibbs in a tight hug.

"They're going to be okay, right, Gibbs? I mean, you just visited them, right?"

"See for yourself," Gibbs replied, stepping out of the doorway so Abby could see McGee standing in the hallway.

"McGee!" Abby crooned as her friend entered, a butterfly bandage over his nose and deep purple bruises already forming under his eyes. She sprinted over, her arms open wide. "You're okay! You're okay!"

After a while, she stepped back and punched McGee in the arm, none too gently.

"What was that for?" he demanded, rubbing the sore spot on his arm.

"For not taking care of yourself. I told you about my dream, and did you listen? No—"

Abby was interrupted as Elaine stuck her head into the door. "Anthony DiNozzo is awake. Room 237."

"Can I see him, Gibbs? Please?" Abby begged. "I have to make sure he's all right!"

"Go on," Gibbs motioned toward the door, knowing there was no arguing with a concerned Scuito.

"Thank you Gibbs! Thank you!" Abby dashed down the hallway but was stopped by a burly security guard standing directly in front of the door.

"Abigail Scuito. I'm on the list," she said, pushing past the guard and into the room.

"Tony!" she cried as she saw her friend awake. Tony was physically in the room, but his mind was clearly somewhere else. He was staring through Abby, but from the expression on his face, he was not having pleasant thoughts.

"Tony?" she asked hesitantly, stepping next to the bed and taking his hand. Tony blinked once and stared up at Abby as if just noticing her arrival.

Tears formed in Abby's eyes as she saw the blank, pain-filled emptiness in Tony's expression. This wasn't right! Tony's face should be full of laughter, mischief, fierce determination at times when one of his partners was in danger. Never emptiness and never forlorn. She forced back the gasp, knowing it would only worsen the situation, and fought to keep her tears at bay.

"Is McGee okay?" Tony asked with absolutely no emotion in his tone.

"Fine," Abby responded, not sure how to act around this new Tony.

Tony just nodded and stared unseeingly at the sheets that covered him.

_Well, this wasn't working_, Abby thought. Time for Plan B. "Yeah, his nose is broken," she babbled, pulling a chair next to Tony's bedside, "but nurse Elaine straightened it out. He's got these ugly bruises under his eyes though. He looks kind of like The Joker…" Abby paused, waiting for Tony to respond to her movie reference.

"Yeah," Tony responded softly, a slight quaver in his tone.

"Are you feeling okay, Tony?"

"I'm—" Tony began, but abruptly switched gears. "No, Abby, I'm not. I let my partner get hurt and our witness get killed. And that's only in the last few hours, who knows what will happen over the next few days…"

"Stop, Tony," Abby demanded, raising her hand in protest. "You will not blame yourself for this Anthony DiNozzo. We know—no, _you _know, you tried your best to save McGee and Carson, but you were _shot_, Tony. I mean, look at yourself. Can't you see that you put up a fight? That you didn't go down easily? That you cared enough about the others to try to save them?"

"But I failed, Abs. McGee's injured and Carson's dead. Yeah, I did a _capital_ job of protecting them."

"Tony—"

"Just go, Abs. Please?" Tony begged, looking up from his hands again with that sad, vacant expression.

Abby bit her bottom lip, hard, to keep the tears hidden as she exited the room. What was wrong with Tony? She had never seen him act this way before. Well, no, that wasn't true. She'd seen him act this way only twice before, once after Kate's death, and a second time after Jenny's. He was a completely different person, not at all like the normal Tony that flitted around the squad room making movie references that only she understood, but who could be completely serious at a moment's notice, ready to kick down a door and right a wrong.

Gibbs met her in the hallway and Abby crashed into him, sobbing loudly.

"He's changed, Gibbs. That's not Tony in there. It's someone else: someone who just…gives up on life. He blames himself for the accident and won't accept that it wasn't his fault," she bawled into his shoulder.

"Shhh…" Gibbs placated, rubbing his hands in circles over the Goth's back. "He's going to be fine, Abby. He's just going through a rough patch right now. Just give him time to heal and he'll be back to his normal, obnoxious self."

"Not nice, Gibbs," Abby exclaimed, pulling away from her boss and wiping the tears from her face. "He's not going to be happy you called him that."

"You tell him when he's back to normal. I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

Abby only nodded, looking hopefully at Gibbs. "Can you just say it again?"

"He's going to be fine, Abby," Gibbs repeated, pulling the Goth into another soft hug.

"He'd better be," Abby responded. "Or he'll be answering to me."

"Only after he answers to me," Gibbs contributed with a half-smile. After a second, he handed over a plastic bag.

"What are these?" Abby asked, looking up at Gibbs in confusion.

"Tony and McGee's clothes. I need you to run them for prints and other pertinent fibers."

Abby just stared at the clothes in silence, painfully aware of the vast amount of scarlet on both of them.

"So much blood…" she muttered under her breath, running her thumb up and down the plastic.

"Abby—"

"I know Gibbs. It's the best thing I can do for them right now," she turned, giving Gibbs a weak smile.

She took a deep breath, raising herself to her full height. "It's the _only _thing I can do for them right now. By the time I'm done running this analysis, you will not only be able to know the identity of the men who did this, but the fiber count of Tony's incredibly attractive suit, whether his suit is the real deal or a cheap knock-off, the number of women McGee has encountered in this Nordstrom's Off the Rack leather jacket, and possibly who sewed the material together, granted I can gather enough DNA from the underside of the buttons or the inside of the jacket linings. Hopefully, in all of that, you will be able to find something that helps…"

"As soon as you can." Gibs leaned over and gently kissed the top of Abby's head.

"You know me Gibbs. I'm speedier than lightning, faster than a minnow can swim a dipper and quicker than you can say Jack Robinson," she declared theatrically as she dashed out of the hospital, a rather remarkable accomplishment considering the height of her platform boots.

"I know you are Abs," Gibbs said to her retreating form. "If anyone can find us a lead, it's you."

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated and, if truly spectacular, shellacked on a nice piece of maple...maybe a little decoupage! (Yes, that was a TV show reference, in case you were wondering...Bonus points if you know to which show I am referring.)_


	4. Chapter 4

_For the McGee fans, though this story appears to be slanted in a Tony-centric direction, I can assure you McGee plays an equally important role! Yes, read that again: McGee plays an equally important role! He has just as much written page as Tony by the end of this story. And for those who thought McGee got off easy during Carson's protection detail, just stick with me for a few more chapters—I can guarantee everything is not well with our favorite computer geek._

* * *

Tony was back at NCIS, sitting at his desk after everyone else had gone home, scrolling through a batch of crime scene photos on his computer that depicted a blue sedan that had collided head-on with a rather large, gnarly tree. He had dated Brenda Bitner for only a night, but he prided himself on his investigative skills. If he wasn't able to read someone with whom he had spent an entire night, how was he supposed to read someone at a moment's notice and be able to say without a shadow of a doubt whether or not the culprit was guilty or innocent?

Just as suddenly as he had arrived at NCIS, he was transported to a dark alley where a blond escort had just been grabbed around the neck by club owner Frank Holtz. As Tony rounded the corner, he saw the man spin around, a gun appearing in his hand, and fire at him and John Carson: Metro Detective and man with a dream. Time seemed to slow as Tony felt himself shying away behind the boxes as he returned fire, but John remained out in the open, unable to find cover behind the small car. One shot shattered the windshield before Tony had the angle that allowed him to fire the kill shot. Sure, the assailant was fatally wounded, but at the end of the day, so was John. Tony had watched as the life had slipped out of him, while he was pounding on John's ribs, trying so hard to save the very man who had just discovered he had something to live for.

His side was aching in agony, but Tony refused to press the morphine pump. He needed to give his statement to Gibbs in a clear state of mind, not deluded by painkillers, before the most important details were lost and Sheffield and Davies, though he suspected those were just aliases, could be brought to justice.

But the pain served another purpose. It reminded him of his decision. The one he knew he had to make, even though he was not going to enjoy it. He loved NCIS and everything it stood for, the people he worked with, and even Vance on occasion. But he had failed too many people, escaped too many brushes with death, and was unable to stop too many murderers to just brush aside what had happened yesterday.

It would be the worst decision he had ever made since he had people at NCIS who loved him, but therein lay the problem. It was a Catch-22, a lose-lose situation, the unwinnable paradox. Yet, he was determined to do what was right for the team, not what was best for him…

"Cheer up, Tony. At least you're in room 237."

Tony looked from the sheet he was wringing guiltily between his hands, his eyes blank and emotionless, to find McGee standing at his hospital door.

"You know, the room from _The_ _Shining?_" the younger agent coached, anxious to see a reaction from his partner.

"Oh," was all Tony said before he returned his gaze to the rumpled sheet.

"I'd've thought you'd be a little more excited about that…" McGee tried again.

"Well, McGee, it's hard to make movie references when your witness just bit the big one."

"You've gotta stop blaming yourself for that, Tony. There was nothing you could do."

"Wasn't there, McGee? I can think of a plethora of them: I should have checked their IDs more thoroughly, managed to get a call off to Gibbs, stayed conscious longer… Maybe I couldn't've stopped them from killing Carson, but I sure as hell should have stopped them before they attacked you."

Tony's thoughts suddenly shifted and he looked up at McGee with anger in his eyes, his almost bipolar mood swings being fuelled by the earlier dose of painkillers he had been given without his consent. "You broke protocol, McGee; you were supposed to stay with the witness!"

"And just what was I supposed to do, Tony? Stay in the backroom while they did God-knows-what to you? That's not what teammates do."

"Yeah, but if you had, we might still have a case against one of the world's biggest drug distributors."

"One of these days, Tony, you are going to have to stop blaming yourself. Hopefully that day is sooner than later, cos I don't know how much more of this self-pity bullshit I can take," McGee shouted as he stormed from the room and slamming the door petulantly behind him, almost immediately regretting his harsh words.

He stood outside Tony's door for a long while before turning sharply and slamming his fist into the hospital wall. What the hell was wrong with him? His partner had almost died and, here he was, engaging in a verbal fight just hours after they had both been hospitalized.

He jumped slightly at the rough hand on his shoulder.

"It's going to be okay, McGee," Gibbs said, offering the younger agent a cup of coffee.

"No, boss, it's not. Have you seen him? He hasn't said one even-remotely Tony thing since he arrived! And that was yesterday evening!"

"Just give him some time, McGee. Be there for him. When he's ready, he'll open up to us all."

The younger agent took a deep breath, held it for a long few seconds, then exhaled loudly. "Was I wrong boss? I mean, I thought there was nothing we could have done—she was dead, the roof was falling, Tony was bleeding out…"

Gibbs stared at McGee for a long moment before speaking. "No, Tim, you weren't. You made a judgment call—"

"I wanted to save her, wanted nothing more than to find her alive, but…"

"She's wasn't, and there's nothing else you could have done," Gibbs finished.

"Then why is Tony in there blaming himself?" McGee asked, practically shouting. A nearby nurse shot him a piercing glare and he lowered his voice, sending the woman a silent apology. "Why am I able to accept that we did nothing wrong and shit happens sometimes, whether we like it or not? When we made it outside…I was glad, boss. Really glad it wasn't me who was laying in there. Glad I would get another chance to see my family, my friends…"

McGee turned his gaze to Gibbs and for the first time, the Lead Agent saw the question behind the blue eyes. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"No, no, McGee, it doesn't." Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose as he contemplated how to phrase what he wanted to say. "You did the best job you could. We lost our witness. Yeah, that's not ideal—it would have nailing Iniguez much easier. But you and DiNozzo survived and right now, that's all that matters. We'll do the best with what we have now and see what happens. If we can't incriminate, we'll wait until Iniguez crawls out from whatever rock he is hiding under. Whether that's six months or ten years, we'll be ready: ready to avenge the death of Carson, Officer Jackson, and the attempted murders on two of NCIS' finest."

McGee's mouth dropped open in shock for two reasons: one, this was the longest speech he had ever heard his boss make in one sitting, maybe the most words he'd ever heard Gibbs say in an entire day, with the exception of the Renny Grant case, and two, Gibbs had just _complimented _him? Around Gibbs, true compliments were scarcer than water in the Sahara.

"Really boss?" McGee asked, his eyes begging Gibbs to confirm, to tell him that he hadn't been wrong, to take about the doubt that still lingered, even after all that had been said.

"Wouldn't say what I didn't mean."

"Thanks, boss," McGee replied honestly.

Gibbs nodded once before handing McGee a temporary cell phone, a far cry from the iPhone to which he was accustomed. "Heard yours was ruined."

McGee accepted the phone, but continued to stare at it in the palm of his hand as the events of the previous night flashed into his consciousness.

"You sure you're okay, Tim?" Gibbs asked, his voice unusually soft.

"Yeah, boss. I'll be fine," McGee confirmed, a slight lift to his posture as Gibbs' words hit home. Yeah, today was not one he would be writing home about, but instead of worrying about the past, he had a better chance of finding one of Iniguez' men's slipups if he were back at NCIS analyzing the data and drawing conclusions between two seemingly irrelevant pieces of information.

He reviewed the events of the night one final time, shoving aside the uncertainty that crept into his thoughts. He _had_ done the best he could. Maybe Iniguez had won this round, but with Team Gibbs on the case, there was no way he was walking, either for today's incident or Ensign Jackson's murder.

"Good," Gibbs thumped McGee on the shoulder before marching into Tony's hospital room, most likely to give his Senior Field Agent the same speech he had just given McGee. The younger agent watched his boss enter, and with one final glance in Tony's direction, headed back to NCIS headquarters, making a promise to let his partner know just how appreciated he truly was, in hopes it would help snap Tony out of his funk.

* * *

Tony didn't even look up from the sheet he was intent on strangling between his fingers as Gibbs dragged a heavy chair across the room and positioned it next to the bed.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs greeted. "How are you doing today?"

"Fine," Tony responded without even glancing at his boss.

"Tony." Something in Gibbs' voice made Tony look up from the sheet he was wrapping tightly around his hands.

"Yeah, boss?" Tony asked, his voice empty and hollow.

"How are you _really _doing?"

"Peachy, Gibbs. I just let our witness die. But no big deal? Happens all the time, right?" Tony's voice grew louder and louder and he became more and more animated. "Just part of the job. We just move on, forget about those we've lost…"

Tony paused, but Gibbs didn't respond, knowing the younger man really wasn't waiting for a platitude, one of the major differences that separated Tony and McGee. McGee had grown a lot in the past few years, but he also needed that guiding hand occasionally, telling him he was doing the right thing or headed in the right direction. In his father's absence, Tony had been relying on himself for so long that his sense of right and wrong was unshakable. He stood strong in his beliefs, and nothing anyone else could say would change what Anthony DiNozzo believed.

Today, he was trusting Gibbs with the thoughts that had been haunting him since the yesterday's fire, knowing that his boss would listen, and not offer advice or tell him it was all okay; Gibbs knew that with one-hundred percent certainty, since, after all, he'd been in a similar situation a few times himself.

"It's all my fault Gibbs. I wasn't strong enough to save McGee, save Carson…This time we got lucky, but what happens next time?"

"DiNozzo—" Gibbs began, trying to stop the "what-ifs" before they had a chance to rear their ugly heads.

"I mean," Tony continued as if Gibbs hadn't spoken at all, "the next time, what? We all die and the new Iniguez walks? Is that how things are going to go down?"

"You and I both know that isn't true DiNozzo," Gibbs interrupted.

"Yeah, whatever, Gibbs," Tony replied, averting his gaze and focusing on the controls next to his left arm. He was silent for a long moment.

"Gibbs…there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about…"

In that instant, Gibbs knew what Tony was going to say. "Don't, Tony."

"I have to, boss. Can't figure out any other way—"

"No, DiNozzo. Not now, not until you've had a chance to sort some things out—"

"It's gotta be now, boss."

"No, Tony. It does not have to be now. You're not going to make any rash decisions while you're under the influence of some damn strong drugs—I won't let you. And if you would stop yammering for long enough for someone else to speak, I have something to tell you."

Tony nodded absently, not really hearing what Gibbs had said. He released his death grip on the sheet and began picking at the gauze wrapped around his left hand, keeping the injured appendage from further swelling.

"Ya did good, Tony." Gibbs' voice softened into just a shadow of his usually gruff tone as he rested his hand on Tony's own, stopping him from pulling off the bandage. "You did all you could. Don't delude yourself into believing differently."

Tony continued to stare absently into the distance.

Gibbs reached over and gently slapped the back of his agent's head. Tony instantly snapped to attention and locked gazes with his boss.

"Did you hear me, DiNozzo? Cos I'm not saying it again."

"I heard ya, boss," Tony repeated, nodding once in confirmation.

"Good," Gibbs replied. "Now, I know this is going to be difficult, but, if you're up to it—"

"You need my statement. I know, boss." Tony gave Gibbs a lopsided smile. The Lead Agent nodded and pulled a small tape recorded from his pocket, switching it on.

Tony took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Here goes…"

With that, he began his story, from the moment he and McGee escorted Carson from NCIS premises to the moment they had exited the building sans one witness. Gibbs just listened, nodding encouragingly at Tony reported the facts with as much detail as he could remember. He waited patiently while Tony hesitated around the time the Marshalls arrived, not wanting to push the man who had already been through so much in the last eighteen hours.

The two agents sat in silence for a long while after Tony was finished until nurse Elaine sauntered through the door.

She flipped through his file and checked the various machines to which Tony was attached. "You're due for your next dose of pain medication, mister," she tutted, noting the time chart. "You're never going to get out of here if you don't do as the doctor ordered."

As she was speaking, pain lanced through his side, reminding Tony of the injury he had received not too long ago. Though, in his defense, he hadn't noticed it was truly hurting until she had mentioned it. Somehow, he was unaffected by the pain, knowing it was keeping him grounded, reminding of him of his failures and the choices he would have to make to ensure the safety of those about whom he cared. On the other hand, he knew Gibbs wouldn't leave until he received his next dose of morphine.

"I'm—" he began, trying his best to convince Gibbs that the pain meds weren't necessary.

Gibbs had anticipated his agent's response and was already reaching for the morphine pump before his agent opened his mouth.

"Rest, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered as he thumbed the button. "I'll be back in a few hours. If I find out that you so much as irritated one of these fine nurses, I'll tan your hide six ways to Sunday."

"Yes, boss…" Tony managed as the drugs pulled him under again. He'd do what Gibbs said, for now. His mind was made up though and nothing his boss said was going to change his mind. He was a danger to his friends—his family. No one else was going to die because of his stupidity.

He could guarantee it.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews always appreciated! I love to hear your thoughts on the latest developments!_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: **__There was a pretty mixed reaction to the last chapter so I thought I'd clear the air with a few general comments. My agents will always remain strong and competent through my stories, and while I may push them to their emotional and physical limits, I will always keep them in character and generally leave them in the same condition I found them in, so MMS, that means no tears, no hugs, and no major emotional breakdowns, I pinky-promise. _

_Most of you weren't thrilled with Tony's latest plan, but remember he _is _on painkillers against his will so he's not thinking entirely clearly. I hope that was a satisfactory answer to everyone's questions._

* * *

The next morning, Gibbs marched into the squad room, finding it unusually quiet. Ziva clearly hadn't gone home the previous night and was reclining in her chair, eyes closed, grabbing a few winks while her computer continued to run Carson's most recent phone calls.

Gibbs looked across the room to see McGee typing furiously at his desk with a hard determination that was not typical for the younger agent. He stopped in front of McGee's desk, but the typing continued without pause.

The Lead Agent waited silently until the keys stopped clacking and McGee looked straight into Gibbs' eyes. "I'm fine, boss," he responded before returning his gaze to his monitor.

Gibbs saw right through McGee's thinly veiled lie. The younger man was clearly hurting. Though he said he had not needed to stay the night in the hospital for observation – Gibbs suspected he had checked himself out AMA – Tim had sustained a minor concussion, meaning the entire team would need to monitor his actions and response times for the next twenty-four hours. There was a large bandage taped next to McGee's nose, keeping the broken bone aligned so it would heal straight. The swelling had already spread under his eyes, turning the areas a deep purple that looked painful, if nothing else.

But Gibbs respected the fact that McGee was dealing with the events of the previous days in his own way, throwing himself back into his work, trying to avoid having the free time to think, to remember, to feel.

McGee had, in a very DiNozzo move, refused a protection detail, insisting he would spend most of his time at NCIS headquarters, arguably the safest building in D.C. The moment he had politely declined, Gibbs and Ziva had locked eyes over McGee's shoulder, silently confirming that one of them would stay with McGee at all hours, day or night.

Gibbs cleared his throat, causing McGee to look up in irritation from his work. Gibbs held up one finger and moved it left, right, up, and down, catalogued McGee's reaction time and slightly sluggish pupils. Now he had a baseline for the computer genius' injuries and would know if the younger man needed some time off.

"Can I get back to work?" McGee asked, a hint of non-typical anger in his voice.

"Yup," Gibbs nodded, heading out of the room and towards Autopsy.

The doors in Autopsy whooshed open to reveal Ducky leaving over Susanna Carson's remains while Palmer was labeling some samples, meant for Abby and her various machines.

"I once knew this poor chap who tried to impress his girlfriend with this unique flame-throwing trick. He ended up rather like you," Ducky recounted to Carson as scraped her ribs with a cotton swab, hoping to gather enough flesh for a DNA test.

"What do you have for me, Duck?" the Marine barked, cringing at the intense smell radiating from the center of the room.

"Sadly, Jethro, not much," Ducky motioned with his head toward the charred remains that littered the table. "I have reviewed Agent McGee's story and his account of the events seems consistent with what I can deduce happened to our poor Miss Carson here."

Ducky waved Gibbs closer and pointed out an indentation in Carson's left sixth rib. "I suspect that is the cause of death."

"Shot in the heart," Gibbs commented, leaning over to get a closer view of the bone. "Someone was trying to send a message."

"I think that was fairly obvious considering our perpetrator then decided to douse her in gasoline and light her on fire. A preliminary examination suggests that our witness died almost instantly, and would not have felt the flames as they consumed her person."

"That's the best news I've heard all day, Duck." Gibbs nodded his thanks and headed out of Autopsy.

"Jethro." Gibbs stopped and turned to face the doctor.

"How is McGee coping with that happened? On my breaks, I have taken to finding him and giving him regular examinations for his suspected head injury, but I can hardly get him to look up from his monitor."

"I'm on it Duck," Gibbs turned to head back to the squad room.

"Jethro, and our young Anthony? I haven't been able to visit as much as I would have liked—the body count in here is almost unbearable. We are using every available slab in this place."

Gibbs nodded his thanks. In an almost uncharacteristic move, Ducky waited patiently for Gibbs to begin speaking without beginning another anecdote about his time in Scotland or one of the many other places to which he had travelled.

"I don't know, Duck," Gibbs scrubbed his hands over his face, "DiNozzo's distant, closed off."

"Surely he's not disobeying the doctor's orders?"

"No," Gibbs shook his head, "but he's not itching to get out of there like he usually is. He listens to the staff, swallows pills, answers questions, but his heart isn't in it. Hell, Duck, he doesn't even flirt with the nurses."

"Oh my Jethro, that _is _serious, but it _is_ to be expected," Ducky replied, standing closer to his friend and placing his hand on Gibbs' shoulder. "Our Anthony has been through far more than other agent in this building, yourself included. He has been dealt the unwinnable hand, but yet, he gets by. I suspect that, on a daily basis, he faces a multitude of ghosts of those he wasn't able to save. Our poor lad never takes time for himself to deal with what has happened, and reacts rather similarly to you," Ducky added, narrowing his eyes at the agent, "throwing himself deeper and deeper into his work until he no longer has time for himself to deal with what all has happened to him. I would imagine he is suffering from bout of survivor's guilt: why he was the one that lived, and the like."

"You think we'll loose him, Duck?"

The question hadn't been entirely unexpected, but it still caught the elderly ME off guard.

"This is the longest he's ever stayed in one place," Gibbs continued while Ducky formulated his answer, "I can only keep him for so long before he moves on to some paradise where he only has to works every other day."

"Oh dear, Jethro. You mustn't be worried about those things. If I recall, your gut reaction after someone's demise is usually the same as our young Italian's. Discarding your hiatus in Mexico, you've never followed through on such feelings."

Ducky looked directly into Gibbs' eyes and was able to see the uncertainty that resided behind the baby blues.

"Just give him time, Jethro. Support him, be there for him, act as you usually do. These things have a way of working themselves out."

A loud sniffled interrupted the Kodak moment. Ducky turned to see Mr. Palmer sniffling loudly by his desk, swiping a finger under his eye to mop up the tears.

"That's beautiful, Doctor, really beaut—"

"_Mr. Palmer_," Ducky clucked disapprovingly, "you should have taken those samples to Abby hours ago. She is probably spinning in circles, consuming far more Caf-Pows! than is medically advisable while she copes with your tardiness."

"Yes, Dr. Mallard," Palmer dashed for the elevator which Gibbs had called while Ducky was reprimanding his assistant.

"Hope you're right, Duck," Gibbs stated as the doors slid shut.

"Aren't I usually?" Ducky responded lightly but the elevator had left, leaving Ducky alone with Carson's remains.

* * *

"C'mon, babies. You can do it! This is no time to take a breather," Abby Scuito exclaimed as she rushed around the room, willing her machines to work faster. "Tony and McGee need you! Yes, I know Tony comes in and presses all your buttons and causes you to overheat, but he's one of the best Field Agents we've ever had! You don't want to have Burley back again, do you?" Abby asked her equipment, all of which were buzzing, beeping, and flickering. "He hated all of you and sent you death glares when you came up with something inconclusive, in case you've forgotten."

The Mass Spectrometer clicked almost sympathetically.

"And you thought I didn't notice," Abby walked over to her favorite piece of lab equipment and wrapped her arms around its main cylinder, fighting back the tears that were dancing at the edges of her vision and threatening to fall. Long ago, she had pledged to not jump off the deep end every time someone she cared about was injured, knowing that she'd be wasting valuable time pitying them while she could be catching the perps. She knew it was part of the job, but it hurt her intensely to see someone she loved in a sling, on crutches, or covered in bandages, but she had promised anyway, and to this day, no one who had hurt one of her friends had gotten away with it.

"Of course I did. Then there's McGee who thinks he knows how to fix you all when you overheat, but really doesn't. He only offers out of love though, you have to know that."

A small scuffling caught Abby's attention. Said agent was standing in the doorway, his hand raised as if to knock on the open door.

"MCGEE!" Abby cried, running over to her friend and enclosing him in a tight hug. "You're back at work already? I wasn't expecting to see you for the next few days. How is your nose?"

She pulled back and examiner her friend who remained still and silent.

"Say something," she ordered.

"How do they do it, Abby?" he asked, his voice soft and hesitant, practically breaking at the end of his question.

"How does who do what?"

"Tony. Gibbs. Ziva. But especially Tony. How does he get hurt so often and show back up to work as if nothing had happened?"

"Oh Timmy," Abby comforted, taking her friend's hand and leading him into her private office where she pushed him into her reclining chair and forced a Caf-Pow! into his hands. "Don't worry about that now. You just be glad you're alive."

"No, Abby," McGee slammed the Caf-Pow! onto her desk, sending the red liquid sloshing over the Styrofoam. "That's not good enough. I want to now how they deal with this stuff: Gibbs gets shot by Ari and is back to work within hours. Ziva looses her childhood friend and has her report finished before lunch. Tony contracts the plague and returns to work one week early, though he can hardly walk from his car to the elevator without gasping for breath. His car explodes and he waltzes in, ready to find out who wanted him dead. He has his nose broken by a kamikaze Marine and continues to work as if getting his broken was a daily occurrence—"

"Well, for Tony, it practically is," Abby grinned. The smile dropped immediately from her face when she realized that wasn't what McGee wanted to hear.

"I'm serious, Abby! I don't know how he does it! My face feels like it's going to explode. I can't breathe through my nose and every sudden movement jars the bone, bringing the 4th of July fireworks back to my vision and sends the world spinning off its axis. Someone's pounding on my head with a sledgehammer and my eyes feel like they weigh a hundred pounds each. I can't concentrate on my work for longer than a few minutes before I have to look away. I don't know how I'm supposed to help when I can only work in a few minute intervals. Yet, within minutes of Tony's return, he always has something to offer, something useful that we've overlooked. I need to know how he does it!"

Abby crouched next to McGee, wrapping her arms around him and rubbing her hands in circles, as Gibbs had done to her a few days ago. That small gesture had made her feel better and she didn't see any reason why it wouldn't help McGee.

"You're not Tony, Timmy. Nor are you Gibbs or Ziva. You are cut from a completely different piece of wood. You're not so strong on the people front—well, you aren't," she justified to McGee's raised eyebrow, "and Tony's not so good at the whole computer thing. Whom does he call again when his TV colors get all inside, outside, upside down? Not some cable guy, or his neighborhood Geek Squad. He calls you, McGee. That's what you're good at. Tony's better at good old fashioned police work, that's just the way it is. And don't take this the wrong way, Timmy, but he's had more experience in the field than you. I can't tell you what those Metro cops have to deal with on a daily basis, but since Tony never speaks about it, I can tell you, it is _not _pretty. He survived the only way he would, growing a thick skin that few have been able to penetrate.

"Don't feel like you have to compare yourself to him," she repeated. "He's seen the seedier side of the bigger cities—"

"And I haven't?" McGee retorted indignantly.

"Stop interrupting. For someone who didn't want to speak when the first arrived, you sure have a lot to say."

Abby narrowed her eyes at McGee, who closed his mouth without speaking.

"—you have had no reason to distance yourself from the work. You've always had people to fall back on when the going got rough, Tony hasn't. He's learned to deal with the world differently. He feels that he can't show his feelings for fear that people are going to judge him for his weakness; he's learned that he has to fight for his place in life, that nothing will be handed to him. You've been taught that feelings are a normal human emotion and have been encouraged to share them with others; you've been taught that others care about you and are here to help you get through a tragedy.

"It's not a crime to take the day to deal with what has happened. Nor is it a crime to see a therapist if you can't deal with it by yourself. But I need you to know this, Timmy: we're always here for you: day, night or anytime in between."

"But you still haven't told me—"

"Don't worry how they do it, McGee. Just worry about being you, doing your work, and finding some lost computer trail that Tony wouldn't be able to see if it bit him in the nose, okay? And if you need a break, come on down here. I think I still have those aromatic candles around here somewhere – they were quite helpful the last time…"

"No thanks, Abs. That is an experience I can do without." McGee wrapped his arms around his long-time friend who was blessed with the ability to understand everyone from the loquacious Medical Examiner to the reserved Mossad assassin. "I needed that."

"I know you did," she replied, tightening her hug one final time before releasing him. "Feel better?"

"Yeah, Abby, I do."

"Good." Abby stood up and walked behind McGee, grabbing the backrest and tipping the chair forward.

"Now get back to work," she ordered, pointing at the elevator. "There's a killer, two rogue US Marshalls, and a drug lord that need to be caught before we can go home."

"Yes, ma'am," McGee saluted before scurrying for the elevator.

Abby sighed heavily and gave herself a quick self-hug. She walked over to the stereo and cracked up Three Cracked Skull's latest album as motivation for getting her job done faster.

The eighth circle of hell was reserved for those who betrayed her friends, and she was certain that by the time she was finished, said circle would have some new occupants.

* * *

He couldn't sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by pictures of those who had died around him: his friends, his family, his victims, his acquaintances, especially Susanna Carson. They played like a broken projector without pause, without mercy for the man whose head they occupied. Occasionally, the victims would turn to Tony and beg him for help, beg him to do something, beg him to have seen the connection earlier.

He knew logically that the dreams weren't real, that he really had done all he could, with perhaps the exception of Jenny's death, but that didn't change the fact that he couldn't stop the images from playing on his eyelids.

He never mentioned them to anyone, afraid that the attending physician would mandate time with a shrink, only prolonging his exposure with those at NCIS. The last thing he wanted at the moment was for someone else to die while Sheffield and Davies were still out there. He hoped that they thought that he and McGee had died in the blaze. As per usual, the media had neglected to cover the fire, now whether that was because NCIS was involved or they had bigger fish to fry, Tony wasn't sure.

As ironic as it sounded, he knew he was safest here in the hospital. The old Tony DiNozzo would have smooth-talked the newest intern into bringing him the discharge papers the morning after he was brought in, but the new Tony knew that he was doing his team the greatest service by staying here, far away from them and anyone who wanted to finish the job. Vance had kicked up security willingly after news of the fire hit his desk even before Gibbs found the time to call. His room was the farthest possible from the hospital entrance, was visible from at least two security cameras at any minute, and had rotating guards outside his door in case Sheffield or Davies came back to finish the job. The only medical personnel allowed in his room were those he had had previous contact with on one of many past cases, and the massive Norwegian brick wall outside his door quickly deterred most lost passersby.

Yup, he was safe here, for the moment at least. He was upset to learn that McGee had refused the protection detail. McGee had cited the many occasions Tony had done so himself, but that didn't make it right. What if something would happen to the Probie while Tony was stuck in the hospital? He'd never forgive himself. But the stubborn geek hadn't listened, much to Tony's dismay, and had brushed all concern away from himself, telling Tony to get better and promising that he'd stay indoors and away from windows.

While Tony wanted nothing more than to watch out for McGee, he knew having the two of them in the same room was not a wise idea since it made both of them easy targets if Sheffield and Davies were still out there. Gibbs and Ziva would have the Probie's six. The Probie couldn't have asked for a better pseudo-protection detail, but he was getting it anyway, whether he liked it or not.

Knowing McGee and the rest of the team were safe for the moment at least, Tony once again closed his eyes and tried to get some uninterrupted rest.

* * *

_The next chapter delves back into the action after Tony gets discharged (You didn't _really _think I was going to leave him in the hospital for the remainder of this story, did you?) More whumpage is ahead for those of you who are curious._

_Thanks for reading! Please drop me a line and let me know what you think._


	6. Chapter 6

"Someone has to have something!" Gibbs stormed into the squad room on the third morning since the incident.

"We do," Ziva responded. "She ran it through CODIS and narrowed the results to cellular activity within the area during the time of the assault." She grabbed the remote from her desk and pulled up a picture of a rather scraggly-looking redhead on the squad room's plasma.

"Sam Fries," McGee snatched the remote from Ziva and pulled up Fries' criminal record. "He's your standard thug for hire, indicted in the kidnapping of Jeremy Hallow, a famous Senator who was looking for harsher punishments for drug dealers, especially those associated with Iniguez' gang. Hallow was found dead two weeks ago in an abandoned apartment complex that once owned by a family with suspected ties to the Iniguez' drug business. There was no conviction since since Metro was only able to gather circumstantial evidence, most of which was dismissed by the judge. According to Tony's description, he is the one called Sheffield."

_So Fries walked due to shoddy police work,_ Gibbs thought…_wonderful_. "Known associates?"

"David Talbot," McGee recited, adding another picture to the plasma, this one of a darker-haired, stockier male. "Did four years in Leavenworth for armed robbery, got out early for good behavior. Been clean ever since. Hasn't even skipped a parole meeting until—"

"Three days ago," Ziva finished. "He matches Tony's description of Davies."

"We got 'em boss," McGee grinned.

"ID-ing them is only half the battle, Tim. Need something more substantial to make it stick."

"Right," McGee's smile fell.

"Address."

"None listed, but according to their files, Metro discovered Fries and Talbot are known to hang out at a local pub, named Mulligan's, no criminal activity known to have stemmed from there though," McGee responded, jotted down the address and handing it to Gibbs.

"Call Metro—" Gibbs began, grabbing his weapon from the drawer.

"And have them send their evidence to Abby. Already did." McGee reached for his backpack.

"Not you, McGee. You're staying here."

"Boss—"

"You're not safe 'til we have them in custody."

McGee opened his mouth to protest.

"Do I have to threaten a mandatory hospital stay for that concussion I know you have?"

"No," McGee replied, the word tasting like vinegar as it left his mouth.

"Good. Now find something to stick to Fries and Talbot. Let's go Ziva."

The Israeli shot her friend an apologetic look as she collected her weapons. "It is for the best," she offered.

McGee frowned at her, before turning back to his computer, determined to find something substantial that would put those bastards away for life.

* * *

"What do you mean they haven't been here?" Gibbs growled, leaning over the bar into the man's personal space.

The bartender, a pudgy man in his late forties, leaned back slightly, but matched Gibbs' death stare.

"_They. Have. Not. Been. Here,"_ the man repeated, slowly and carefully as if he was speaking to a classroom of kindergarteners.

"You are aware it is a crime to lie to a federal agent?" Ziva asked from her seat where she was examining the abnormally sharp laminated edges of the drinks menu.

"One year minimum," Gibbs added, watching for a reaction from the man. The man gulped once but held his ground, showing no signs of additional nerves.

"Wasn't aware. Doesn't change the fact that I haven't seen them in over a month."

"You're sure?"

"The last time the two of them were in here, they got in a big fight. Destroyed half my place."

"What was the fight about?" Ziva questioned.

"Dunno," the bartender shrugged.

Gibbs reached over the counter and grabbed the man's lapels, pulling him across the bar.

"Okay, okay! It was about some job they were about to pull. Fries wanted more money, but Talbot was telling him to be happy with what they were getting. They were bi—" he glanced in Ziva's direction and saw her arch one eyebrow challengingly, "—_complaining_ about their boss, some guy named Sheldon."

"You catch a first name?"

"My memory's a little foggy. Maybe some dead presidents will help…" the bartender suggested.

"Answer the question or spend a night in federal lockup," Gibbs glared.

"He is serious," Ziva added, raising her right arm and taking aim at the spot directly above the bartender's head with the super sharp menu.

The man narrowed his eyes, but decided it wasn't worth it in the end. "Nate, Ned, Neal, something like that."

Gibbs extracted a business card from his pocket and dropped it in the man's breast pocket before storming from the pub.

"Thank you for your time," Ziva said as she followed. "Please give us a call if you remember anything else."

She paused as she reached the doorway. "I'd dull the edges on those menus if I were you. Where I come from, I learned to kill with objects that were half as sharp."

_Yeah whatever, _the bartender thought, running his finger along the side of the menu and grimacing as the laminate left a deep cut in his thumb. He looked up in shock at the woman, but she was already gone, having left with the man who appeared to be ready to snap someone's neck at a moment's notice.

* * *

"You ready to go, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, pushing in a wheelchair past the discharge nurse. The unusually subdued DiNozzo sat on the side of his bed, dressed in a pair of sweats and a NCIS T-shirt that someone, probably Abby, had grabbed from his home.

"Really, boss? The chair? I am fully able to walk the three hundred some feet to the car," Tony protested half-heartedly. It wasn't that he hasn't glad to see his boss, but he would be happy when he was home. Alone.

The large security guard who had been stationed outside Tony's door decided it was time to intervene on the grey-haired man's behalf.

"It's hospital policy that all patients must be discharged in a wheelchair. Now, we can do this two ways," the guard growled, poking his head into the door and cracking his knuckles menacingly. "The easy way or my way. Which would you prefer?"

Tony raised one eyebrow at Gibbs, who just shrugged.

"The chair," Tony frowned, carefully maneuvering his way into the mobile, scowling at the guard as he was wheeled out of the room.

"A pleasure having you, Mister DiNozzo," the guard smiled widely, waggling his fingers at the agent.

Tony screwed up his face at the guard, but the man was already walking the other way, off to protect another helpless victim.

Gibbs helped Tony get situated before starting the car and gently pulling out into traffic, driving much more carefully that he usually did.

"Can I go home, boss?" Tony asked softly after a few miles.

Gibbs understood how Tony was feeling—hell, he'd been there himself a few times, but given Tony's current state of mind, Gibbs wasn't sure that was the right decision. "I don't—"

"Yeah I know. There's still two killers out there who might want to add Anthony DiNozzo to their kill list, but there'll be an agent assigned to my home at all hours, and you and the team will be stopping by frequently, so there's really no reason I can't stay there. Besides that, I lock my front door," he added with a sideways glance toward his boss, "and I really don't want to inconvenience you."

"You just got shot, DiNozzo."

Tony was silent for a long moment, gripping the door handle tightly as Gibbs took the right turn on two wheels. "Please, Gibbs?" he asked quietly, barely able to be heard over the screeching car horns.

Gibbs was silent for a moment, reading between the lines and knowing that Tony's statement about putting Gibbs out was code for he wanted to be alone. Tony needed some time to cope with what had happened, alone, and without anyone to placate him and without anyone he would have to assure that he was fine. DiNozzo also had a valid point: there would be a guard at his home at all hours but, if DiNozzo wouldn't be staying at Gibbs' home, one of the team would also always be with him.

After considering all his options, Gibbs nodded his approval. If Tony wanted space, Gibbs would give it to him, but not before a few extra security measures were in place. He would even have McGee's crew from the CyberCrimes unit install a few more cameras around Tony's apartment. Lord knows the man could use some additional protection from the many criminals he had put away in his many years in law enforcement.

Gibbs stayed to help Tony get settled, but quickly gathered that his agent wanted to be left alone. He called Vance who quickly assigned an additional agent for Tony's home with the number of the on-call team on speed dial.

_Oh DiNozzo is going to love that, _Gibbs thought, as Vance announced that Sacks was the only available FBI agent for the detail.

Tony watched through the front window as Gibbs remained in his driveway until another sedan pulled up and parked across the street. He groaned inwardly as he saw who was in charge of his protection detail. Of all the people in the FBI, they had to pick _Sacks_ to guard his home? The agent would probably roll out the red carpet for Iniguez' men if they ever came calling.

He slipped into the kitchen and filled a large glass of water from the sink. It wasn't really his beverage of choice, but he had promised Ducky he would stay well hydrated in order to avoid an IV of fluids. He grimaced as the over-mineralized fluid slid down the back of his throat, almost catching about halfway down. Maybe it was time to invest in a water filter…

Tony finished the rest of the water in a giant gulp and, having fulfilled his obligation to the doctor, reached in the fridge for something stronger.

He maneuvered his way to the refrigerator where he pulled out a six-pack of beer, popping the lid of one. He wasn't supposed to drink alcohol with the painkillers, but his side was barely a two on the scale of one to ten so he hadn't taken his last batch, hiding them under his tongue until Elaine had left the room, when he had promptly spit them into the nearest trash can. He had no intentions of drinking until he was totally wasted – it pained him to admit that he was far too old for that – but he wanted, at least for a little while, not to feel, not to have memories flashing through his head.

He set the alcohol on the side table next to the church key, leaned back into his recliner and turned on his flat screen television. He flipped through the many channels, unable to find anything that caught his interest. After a while, he turned off the set and stared at the far wall as his memories, and hopefully additional details that would help the case, finally caught up with him.

Carson had been a real pain in the ass but, when she thought she was truly going to die, her true personality had slipped though. Tony knew how she was feeling, obliquely. He knew what it felt like to lock up his feelings and not confide in anyone, even his teammates, choosing instead to let the emotions build until even he was unable to keep them hidden any longer.

He placed his empty bottle on the side table and opened another. From his many hours spent with Abby, he knew alcohol was a depressant, so it didn't really make sense for him to be drinking it when he already felt so out of sorts. But he was well aware of his own limitations despite what Ducky or Gibbs might think and knew how many alcoholic beverages his body could handle; after what had just happened, the total was a small number and Tony had no intention of pushing that barrier. He really wasn't interested in additional relaxation, he just wanted to not think for a while. He took a long swig of the second beer and exhaled loudly as he felt the cold liquid move through his system.

Carson was no spring chicken, but she still had plenty to live for, a great-grandchild she would never see, never hold in her arms, never have over for summer vacation, never teach how to sew or cook or play ball. He had been unable to save her from the inevitable. That had been his job, hadn't it? Protect the witness at all costs? Yet, he had been unable to do even that, and in the process, his partner had gotten injured. That was no example for the Probie. Maybe Vance was right. It _would _be better for him to be assigned to some ship that only docked a few times a year, where the most dangerous situation he would have to deal with was an underappreciated doctor who handed out extra Ibuprofen to Marines so they could continue to defend their country without pain.

A small part of his brain that was still thinking clearly realized that that statement wasn't true in any form, yet, Tony couldn't help returning to that thought. The team would survive without him; it might take longer than a few months for them to adapt to the new member, but they'd be all right.

McGee was easily able to be Senior Field Agent, and in a few years, might even be assigned his own team. Tony had seen how easily McGee had adopted the mentor role when those interns had arrived: he had hazed the blond collegiate without a second thought and had even convinced him to apply for their summer internship. Ziva was more than capable of protecting whatever new agent was assigned to the team until they gained their "sea legs". Gibbs went though agents like bottles of bourbon. There had been many more on Team Gibbs before Tony, and he had no doubt that there would be plenty more after he had left as well. Gibbs was the constant in the NCIS equation: everything else could change, but as long as Leroy Jethro Gibbs was in charge of the MCRT, cases would still be solved, and murderers would still be arrested.

He popped the lid on a third beer, feeling his heart rate slow slightly, and his breathing even. He felt relaxed, free from emotion, free from pain, even if it was just for a short while, but in the haze, he was still aware enough to push the six-pack away from him, knowing this was probably all the liquid courage his battered body could stand for a while.

Gibbs had even told him, the first day he returned to work, that the team had gotten more done in the two weeks than they had in the whole last year. Again, part of Tony knew that Gibbs was only joking—that that was just Gibbs way of saying he had missed his second-in-command—but still, Gibbs knew how hard Tony worked to seek the approval of others, why would he say something so callous and potentially harmful?

His reverie was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

He sighed his complaint and twisted around, reaching into the kitchen with his long arms and snatching the phone from the counter.

"DiNozzo," he barked with a slight slur.

"Are you _the _Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo of NCIS?" a man panted.

"Yeah…" Tony thought hard, trying to place a name with the voice.

"Good."

"Keenan! You're not supposed to be using the phone," Tony accused, having placed the voice with a name.

"Then we have to make this quick," James Keenan paused to catch his breath. "I need to meet with you. There's something you need to know about Ensign Jackson's murder, something important."

"You need to tell the Marshalls. That's why they're there—"

"I can't. I think they're on Iniguez' payroll. I don't have anything concrete, but I just have this feeling, and my gut is hardly ever wrong."

Another set of rogue Marshalls? Even Tony knew that was statistically improbable _without_ having taken a single class at MIT. But in such a high-profile case anything was possible. "You need to call Gibbs—"

"I'm calling you, DiNozzo. Can you handle it?"

Tony glared at the phone, his anger once again flaring at Keenan's inability to trust in the capable agent he was. "I can handle it. Where are you now?"

"I can't tell you over the phone, your line may be bugged. Meet me at the Red Line terminal in twenty minutes."

"Keenan, I can't—"

"It's a matter of life or death, DiNozzo. I'm asking for your help here. Please don't let me down."

That was all Tony needed to hear. He would not add Keenan to his list of failures.

"I'll be there," Tony promised.

Now he had to sneak out of the house without alerting the Marshalls. Good thing he had never gotten that bathroom window fixed…

Tony discarded his unfinished third beer. It was time to be serious and hopefully save another life. He contemplated calling Gibbs, but decided against it at the last moment. If this was a trap, it wasn't worth his boss' life as well.

DiNozzo waiting for Sacks to pass by the bathroom window on his regularly scheduled perimeter check before slipped out the window and landing softly in his neighbor's bushes. He crept across the open back lawn and into the woods that ran behind his apartment complex in the one stretch of grass that wasn't covered by any security camera.

Tonight, he was on a mission. He'd help Keenan out, save him from the rogue Marshalls, if they even existed. But most of all, he make sure there was a case against Salvatore Iniguez, so the man was going away for murder one, attempted murder, drug-running and a myriad of other crimes.

If Keenan's lead panned out, Iniguez would never see the light of day again, and as far as Tony was concerned, that was just fine with him.

* * *

_I gave you fair warning the action would be starting up again…_

_Thanks for reading! Please drop me a line and let me know what you think!_


	7. Chapter 7

Ziva looked up from her paperwork to see Gibbs staring at her. He nodded his head to the side and she glanced across the bullpen to see McGee sitting at his desk, head in his hands, eyes closed. Ziva returned her gaze to Gibbs and nodded once in understanding.

It had not gone unnoticed how the younger agent was forced to stop reading every few minutes and close his eyes before snapping them open and squinting at the words on the monitor. The man was working with an intensity that both Ziva and Gibbs not only admired but completely understood. He had been double-crossed and wanted justice, but the younger man was in no shape to find a killer if he couldn't keep his eyes open for more than few minutes at a time.

"We're leaving." Ziva appeared in front of McGee's desk, shocking the man out of his rest.

"What?" The agent glanced between Gibbs and Ziva in surprise. "No," he declared as he returned to his work.

"McGee, do not insult my knowledge—"

"Intelligence," McGee corrected without looking up from his monitor where he was scanning through the security footage from the surrounding area.

"No matter," she deflected. "You need your rest. You were injured during a protection detail, almost blown up and have a mild concussion."

McGee looked up at her in shock before realizing that Ziva was more human lie-detector than Gibbs.

"You will still need someone to stay with you in case your concussion worsens," she continued, grinning slightly with the knowledge that after five years, she could still surprise her partners with her advance deception techniques.

"Ziva, I'm not leaving."

"Go home, McGee," Gibbs ordered from his desk.

"But boss—"

"Either that or you come home with me."

"I…I don't want to impose on either of you," McGee admitted, scrubbing his forehead with his hands, taking great care to avoid his nose.

"It will not be imposing. I need you to fix my electrical system," Ziva stated. "It is quite a selfish demand really. It had not worked correctly since the electrician stopped by last week to adjust the wiring. Everything works properly until BLAM!" Ziva exclaimed, spreading her fingers in a mock explosion, "the lights shoot on, as well as my TV, DVD player and stereo. I have not had a full night of sleep in nine days! Please say you will help me out, McGee."

"You're sugar-coating it. You just want me out of the office."

"I am not putting sugar on anything," Ziva returned. "I honestly need your help before I am forced to do something drastic that may or may not involve a well-placed explosive."

"You'd better help her out, McGee," Gibbs added.

"But, boss…"

Gibbs turned to Ziva. "What is the best way to get an uncooperative subject to cooperate?"

Ziva paused and considered what method would best disable McGee temporarily with little permanent damage, but with a large enough window for her to drive him to her house.

"This is coercion," McGee stated, with a deep glare in the Israeli's direction.

Gibbs raised one eyebrow, daring McGee to challenge him.

McGee sighed heavily, grabbing his gear from alongside his desk. "For the record, I am not going willingly. Like it or not, we will be back here at seven A.M. Sharp."

"Who is keeping a record?" Ziva questioned, confusion present in her features.

"Never mind," McGee answered as they exited the bullpen leaving Gibbs pouring over Iniguez' financials. Even after all these years, he still did not trust the computer to find the connection between two distinct withdrawals or deposits that were in actuality related.

McGee turned to Ziva as the elevator doors slid closed. "So, do you have access to your fuse box?"

* * *

Once in the cover of the woods, Tony broke into an awkward run, pressing his arm tightly against his side to keep from tearing his stitches. He couldn't take his car, since it was parked right in front of the Marshals' vehicle, but after he had helped out an old frat buddy with a "girl problem" a few years, they had reached an agreement that Tony could borrow one of his luxury cars anytime he needed. Tony hadn't yet taken advantage of the offer, since his frat brother had taken quite a liking to him in college and had always made sure they attended the hottest parties in OSU's history. Tony considered the debt repaid, but the offer still remained.

Tony arrived at the house in less than five minutes. Breathing hard, he punched in the code to the garage with full knowledge that his friend was out of town for Halloween weekend. Tony couldn't help gasping in surprise as the garage door creaked open to reveal a brand-new Mercedes Benz luxury sedan. There was no way he was taking that to the meet.

He saw a small door leading to the back of the house. He knew his friend loved showing off his wealth, but he was fairly certain he would have to have a more mundane car for day-to-day driving. He followed the cobblestone path and discovered a smaller building in the backyard, just large enough for a small car. Unfortunately, there was a large padlock wrapped around the door's handles.

He knelt beside the garage and extracted his lockpick kit from his back pocket. Within seconds, he had the door open and was driving the Chevy Impala toward the Red Line.

Driving in a manner that would have made Gibbs and Ziva proud, DiNozzo arrived at the station with two minutes to spare. He turned off the ignition and sat in the car, scanning the area for Keenan or any other signs of surveillance, though neither was immediately present.

Deciding it was safer to wait in the Metro station, he exited the vehicle and was locking the car when he heard footsteps approaching. Before his mind had time to process this piece of information, a large arm wrapped around his upper body and a meaty hand was clasped over his mouth.

"Don't even think about it," warm breath hissed in his ear.

As the man ordered, Tony didn't think—he just reacted. He drove his elbow into his attacker's solar plexus, stomped on the man's instep and twisted out of his grip. Still holding the man's arm, Tony spun him around and slammed him against the hood of the car, wrenching his arm tightly behind his back. As his attacker writhed in pain, his face was illuminated by a nearby street lamp.

"What the hell Keenan?" Tony shouted angrily. "You could have gotten yourself killed."

"Had to make sure it was you," Keenan scowled, his face scrunched tightly against the pain.

"Ask for my name next time, it's better for your health," Tony glared, pulling the man's arm a fraction higher before releasing him.

Keenan stood silently, rolling out his injured shoulder, glaring at Tony.

The NCIS agent narrowed his eyes, but said nothing, knowing this was not the time for one of his witty remarks.

"Follow me," Tony instructed as he headed toward the Red Line terminal where there were plenty of possible witnesses, and enough screaming children and frenzied people to make even the evilest villain think twice about planning meetings in public places, which made them perfect for the clandestine meeting with Keenan.

"Not there," Keenan grabbed the back of Tony's jacket and motioned toward the dark alley.

"No way." While there was only one way in or out of the alley, it was a tactical nightmare with millions of places on the nearby rooftops that would serve as perfect sniper's nests for one of Iniguez' men. That and the fact that there was a myriad of trash and other junk lining the walls, leaving thousands of opportunities for someone to hide behind. Walking into the alley was as good as signing Keenan's death warrant.

"I'm not talking in a public place," Keenan stated. "I'm not sure who to trust: I think the Marshalls guarding me are in on it with Iniguez, trying to silence me."

"I promise you can trust me, but the alley is a no-go. Haven't you ever seen a horror flick?" Tony asked, trying to lighten the situation to in an attempt to calm the frazzled witness, even though he didn't feel particularly cheery himself.

The witness did not look impressed. "Shut up, DiNozzo. You need to hear what I have to say."

"You've said that before, but so far nothing that's come out of that mouth has been Oscar material."

Keenan stopped suddenly, grabbed Tony's lapels and shoved him against the wall. His breath caught in his throat, his side exploding in pain, as his back came in contact with the sharp brick, cutting through the soft jacket material and slicing into his skin.

"I'm trusting you here, Di_Nut_so," the witness repeated, emphasizing that particular portion of Tony's name. "What I'm gonna tell you is going to help you bring down the entire Iniguez empire. If I'm talking, it'll be somewhere where I'll be safe."

"Fine," Tony conceded. "But not the alley. Pick somewhere else, but make it snappy. The longer we're out here, the greater chance of exposure, which, for those of us who didn't go to college, means the better chance Iniguez has to kill you." Tony brought his hands upward and broke Keenan's hold, roughly shoving the witness away.

Keenan glared at Tony.

"Scary," Tony remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. As he spoke, he was scanning the area around them, looking for people who lingered too long around them, people who seemed overly interested in their conversation, anything and everything that would be considered out of the ordinary.

Keenan intensified his glare.

"It needs work," Tony added before returning to the present agenda. "Now, what's this information you were so keen to share?"

But the witness wasn't satisfied that the area Tony had chosen was completely safe. He walked partially into the alley, but before Tony could protest, he turned into a small doorway and banged once on the rusted door. It fell open and Tony could see the building had once been a storefront that had long since been abandoned.

Tony threw one last look over his shoulder before following Keenan into the dark room, his skin crawling as he walked through the small patch of alley. Once inside, he switched on a small penlight and walked around the perimeter of the room. Other than the two of them, the room was completely abandoned with a Dumpster framed by two towers of boxes stacked along one side.

The boxes suddenly swayed and Tony reached out, resting his hand on the wall, pretending to be inspecting that particular section of the concrete while his vision righted itself. After a long moment, he forced himself upright and continued to examine the room, mumbling something about the strength and security of the wall in an attempt to downplay his sudden vertigo.

The store was constructed of solid concrete with the exception of two empty squares at the top of each wall that must have once been windows, but have long since lost their glass. Through the window, Tony could see only sky, meaning the windows weren't a problem unless someone could sprout wings or jump at least ten feet into the air in order to fire a bullet through the gap. He returned to the front doorway and shoved the rusty deadbolt into the door jamb. Temporarily satisfied with Keenan's arrangement, Tony turned back to the witness, semi-accidentally shining the light directly in the witness' eyes.

"This safe enough for you, G-man?" Keenan quipped as he flinched away from the bright light.

"Start talking, Keenan," Tony demanded, choosing to ignore Keenan's barb, his own tone revealing his unease with the situation.

"It's about the Jackson case. I never meant to get caught up in this, it just happened. It was out of my control. I never usually walk by the pier on my way home, but I got this note, telling me to be there at this time—" Keenan swallowed hard, hesitant to continue.

"Who was the note from?" Tony coached.

"No one. No return addr—"

A sharp crack of a rifle reverberated through the room, silencing all conversation as Tony and Keenan took cover.

DiNozzo shoved Keenan to the left into a far pile of boxes while he dove into nearest pile, only midway through the dive realizing that the impending collision was really going to hurt. He crashed into the wood, seconds before another shot buried itself in the Dumpster, sending metal shards flying in all directions.

Tony forced himself into a small a target as possible as he pulled his SIG from the small of his back. It was his own equivalent of Rule Nine, though he had his trusty knife in his belt buckle as well if need be. He poked his head over the boxes, gun locked and loaded, trying to locate the shooter, but no more shots were fired.

_Where the hell had the shot come from? _he wondered as he waited silently for the shooter to expose himself. It hadn't come from a window, since the angle was humanly impossible; the walls were solid concrete; and the door was locked and bolted.

He remained crouched behind the boxes for a few long moments before grabbing his penlight and rolling it across the room. There were no additional shots fired and no other sounds in the building

"Keenan?" Tony shouted, cautiously stepping out into the open, gun still raised. "_Keenan!"_

"Here…" a weak cry came from the other side of the room.

Tony rounded the corner to find Keenan sprawled against the wall, blood gushing from a small hole in his left shoulder. He yanked off his jacket, ignoring the burning pain in his side as he did so, and pressed it tightly against Keenan's wound.

"Stay with me!" he ordered as the front door banged open, sending the wind whipping mercilessly around him, driving sharp needles of ice into his skin.

Keenan's eyes were glassy and unfocused. He was gasping for every breath, and coughing a wet phlegm-filled cough every few seconds. Tony pressed harder on his shoulder, despite the incredible pain he knew he was causing the witness.

"I-I-I-I…"

"Don't talk!" Tony barked as he tried to dial the ambulance with his bloodless, but still bandaged, left hand. Swearing under his breath, he placed his knee over Keenan's wound so manipulate the phone with his working hand.

"Ha-ha-ha-ve to," Keenan wheezed.

"Damn," Tony swore as his cell phone blinked repeatedly, unable to connect to the satellites in the abandoned building.

He turned back to his witness who continued to pant unevenly. He fumbled with his belt buckle and managed to unloop it from his waist after a few tries. He wrapped it around the bandage so it would hold tightly and cinched it tight, eliciting a small groan from the witness.

"I'm going for help." Tony forced himself to his feet, directing his instructions to Keenan. "You _will_ be alive when I get back."

Keenan opened his mouth but no words came out.

"Don't try to speak," Tony ordered. "Just stay with me."

"C-a-a-a-n't," Keenan sputtered.

"There are more lives at stake than just your own," Tony said quietly.

Keenan's eyes sharpened slightly and he dropped his head on his chest, symbolizing the affirmative.

"I'll be back," Tony promised as he sprinted toward the door, practically separating the deadbolt from the door was he yanked the door open. He sprinted toward the front of the alley, holding his phone as high as possible.

At the end of the block, the phone clicked on. Tony stopped dead in his tracks and dialed 911.

"Federal witness down," he spoke quickly and clearly into the receiver, spinning around to find the exact address.

"Alley behind the Red Line terminal." Tony dropped the phone, making sure the line stayed connected so the ambulance could trace the phone's GPS, and dashed back toward the storefront where he had left Keenan.

His mouth dropped open in surprise as he burst through the door and rounded the Dumpster. He glanced around wildly, looking frantically in every direction, but to no avail: James Keenan was gone.

And worse than that, there was no sign the federal witness had ever entered the building.

* * *

David Talbot sat in a currently unoccupied two story house, directly across from the house he was surveilling. The three-person family that owned the property was vacationing this weekend, leaving this house conveniently empty. _How perfectly that coincided with his mission, _the man thought as he set his soft drink container next to a rather impressive Barbie doll collection and watched two people enter the second story of the apartment complex across the street.

He bent over his rifle and peered through his scope in order to get a better look at the two: the target, Timothy McGee, was a tall male, who had lost quite a bit of weight since the surveillance picture had been taken two years ago, the other was an exotic female who exuded deadly energy. The man flipped through his massive file until he came across a copy of her dossier.

_Ziva David_, he read, _former Mossad officer turned NCIS agent. _Well that would make this assignment slightly more difficult, but nothing a man of his incredible skills couldn't manage.

The target stopped directly in front of the window and checked left and right before fastening the lock and snapping the shutters closed.

What the agent didn't know was that the layered oak shutters still allowed the shooter a view of the room. As he watched, the target sat down at a stylish wooden table and talked with Agent David for a while until the Mossad liaison slipped into the kitchen, presumably to cook a meal for the two.

The man grinned and slipped his finger onto the trigger of his favorite rifle, focusing on the exact center of his target's head, slightly under the brown cowlick.

_Easiest $5000 he'd ever made_, he thought as he tightened his finger on the trigger, ready to bring an end to Timothy McGee's worthless life.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Please drop me a line and let me know what you think!_


	8. Chapter 8

_I am wary about posting this chapter due to the high probability that some of you will find it out of character. While you may frown upon the action in this chapter, I can only assure you that there is a tangible reason why they act the way they do. I hope you will continue to trust me and stick around for we're just over halfway through this story and there's much more action, mystery, drama, and another "What the hell?" moment to come for both Tony and McGee._

* * *

"Why are you here, McGee?" Ziva asked as she eased into one of the elegant wooden chairs surrounding her dining room table. According to protocol, she and McGee had cleared her apartment, making sure there were no surprises left for them by an unknown assailant. Even though McGee was relatively sure he was no longer in danger, Ziva was taking no chances with his life.

McGee looked slightly confused. "You asked me to fix your electrical system."

"No, I mean, why are you still alive? Do not take this the wrong way, but if this would have been my mission, I would have not left Tony or you alive."

"Well that's nice to hear," Tim scowled.

"It is the truth, McGee. You two are collateral damage."

"You know what this means, right Ziva?" McGee asked with a grin.

A genuine smile lit up Ziva's face as she pulled two chairs away from the table, arranging them so they were facing each other.

"Campfire," she replied as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Ten minutes later, both of them were hunched over with their elbows on their knees, resting their heads in their hands in almost a perfect Thinker pose, as they continued to conjecture why Tony and Tim had been left alive.

"They knew Tony got solid looks at both of them and could identify them if this case ever went to court…"

"And yet, they chose not to kill you. Why?"

"They shot Carson twice execution style then set her on fire," McGee spoke up after a long moment. "Clearly we weren't the targets, just two people in the way of a mission."

"But they had to have known the fire would spread. Even if wanted the two of you to live, they could not guarantee you would wake up before the house collapsed."

"Let's continue to assume we were meant to survive the fire," McGee suggested, "Why? What advantage does that bring?"

"Maybe they were sure they would never be convicted."

"But we got solid looks at both of them, and they both have records. They _had _to have known we'd identify them."

"I didn't say they were sure they wouldn't be identified, I said they were sure they wouldn't be _convicted."_

"But they couldn't have known that going into the heist so why take that chance?"

They sat in an uncomfortable silence, trying to figure out what advantage Talbot and Fries gained by leaving Tim and Tony alive.

"This may be unpleasant, but let us assume you were meant to die," Ziva suggested after a moment, watching McGee's face contort into a wince. "Why do I leave the fire to kill you? Why don't I just shoot you as well as Carson?"

McGee paused to consider. "I'm back to the fact that Tony and I weren't the targets, but then why did they bother waiting until she was in custody?"

"Maybe they couldn't locate her."

"Okay, okay," McGee's voice rose as the pieces began fitting together. "Try this on for size. There was more to Petty Officer Jackson's murder, something we haven't found yet and Carson knew about it. She ran to escape Iniguez and his men. I mean, she pretty much disappeared, we wouldn't even have found her if that clerk had not been aspiring to be an FBI agent."

"So they have someone in the law enforcement agency who passed on the information about her protection detail," Ziva surmised. "That would not be surprising for someone with Iniguez' power."

"They waited until she was out of custody and went to take her out."

"To send a message to all those who wanted to talk about Iniguez' work?"

"I don't know, Ziva." McGee groaned, resting his head in his palms. "Right now, I'm just glad I'm alive – whatever the reason, I owe Talbot and Fries a big thank you note, but maybe we should worry less about the "why" and a little more about the "how" as in, _how are we going to catch them_?"

McGee glanced upwards to see Ziva staring curiously at him.

"I'm sorry, Ziva. That was uncalled for. It's just…all this thinking is making my head hurt."

"I will make us something to eat," she said, getting up from the table. "Then you can fix my electrical system so we can brain freeze without interruption."

Before McGee could correct her, the Israeli had disappeared out of the dining room. He knew it would be polite to offer his help with the food preparation, but he couldn't find the internal strength to raise himself from the table. So he sat, staring at the blank wall, rubbing his eyes viciously, trying to physically force the headache away while pots and pans clattered and crashed together in the other room.

If only Tim had known there was a Winchester rifle pointed at the back of his head and the man fingering the trigger, ready to end his life, maybe he would have followed Ziva into the kitchen, but he remained seated and blissfully unaware.

Then, without warning, darkness spread throughout the room.

"This is what I am talking about, McGee!" Ziva hissed as she reentered the room. She managed to navigate the tight quarters without colliding with any furniture and located a flashlight in the end table.

"Okay, Ziva," McGee muttered as he got up from the table, wincing as the movement aggravated his headache. "I'll take a look."

* * *

_Damn_, Talbot swore as he lost sight of McGee in the darkness. _Of all the days for there to be a problem with the power grid!_

He waited patiently for the lights to come back on, for even a man with his skill could not take out a target through a crack in the blinds without night vision goggles. He shifted positions frequently, trying to regain a lock on his target, for over an hour without any success. When he glanced back up at the Pretty Pretty Princess clock, the day had long since faded away and the night was making it increasingly difficult to see his hand three feet in front of his face.

Sighing heavily, he pulled a walkie talkie from his pocket.

"Boss, we've got a problem."

"That was the one phrase I specifically stated I wanted never to hear again," a cultured voice rang over the static.

"I've lost sight of the target," Talbot muttered quietly.

"You _idiot!_ You were not following the plan!"

"I'm sorry boss," Talbot whined, "How was I supposed to know they would have a power outage?"

"You need to fix this Talbot. Our window of opportunity is closing quickly. We need to see results within the next twenty-four hours!"

"What do you want me to do, boss?"

There was a long silence on the line. "Use your imagination."

"Yes, sir," Talbot declared as the line clicked off. He lovingly stripped his rifle and carefully placed the pieces into his carrying case before wiping his fingerprints off the window ledge.

He left the way he had come, through the front door, leaving no trace of his presence in the home.

A feral grin crossed his features as he slipped into the pedestrian traffic, just another person walking home from work. He had always liked his plan better: it was substantially more fun than his boss's and it guaranteed that neither McGee nor DiNozzo would ever be returning home.

* * *

Gibbs exited the NCIS elevator onto the bottom floor, nodding once at the security guard who manned the metal detector.

It had come to the hour when he could no longer read the information that was flashing on his monitor. Abby had danced into the room, pulled the plug on his desk lamp and threatened to burn down his newest boat unless he had showered, caught a few hours of sleep, and grabbed something to eat. Then, she had sealed the deal by making him pinky-promise he would abide by the aforementioned conditions.

And deep within Gibbs knew the scientist was right. He was of no use to DiNozzo and McGee if he couldn't be alert enough to hone in on a small detail that would reveal a viable clue. Before he tended to his own health though, he had made plans to stop by DiNozzo's apartment on the way home to ensure that Sacks was watching his agent very closely as well as seeing how DiNozzo was holding up before returning to NCIS, showered in the decontamination wing and caught 40 on one of Ducky's empty autopsy tables or on Abby's futon. The last choice was becoming the most viable option since it ensured he wouldn't be receiving a phone call in half an hour asking if he was asleep yet.

Static cracked over the police scanner as Gibbs made his way to the exit. "That's negative, Dispatch. No backup needed. Repeat, no backup needed. Just some kid claiming a federal witness was shot."

"Was he?"

"No."

"Damn teenagers."

"Not a teenager. A federal agent, actually."

"What agency?"

"NCIS. Name's DiNosio or something like that."

Gibbs spun around and snatched the receiver from the guard's belt, ignoring his cries of protest.

"Status of Special Agent DiNozzo," Gibbs demanded.

"Who wants to know?" the suave cop asked suspiciously.

"His boss," Gibbs responded, glaring into the handset.

"Cool your jets, pops," the suave cop replied, nonplussed by Gibbs' demanding tone. "DiNosy's fine. Not injured in the slightest," he added with a hearty guffaw.

"Address!" Gibbs grabbed a notepad from the security guard's breast pocket and scrawled down the location before chucking both the notepad and the handset back at the night guard.

As he accelerated away from the NCIS lot, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Ziva.

"DiNozzo's in trouble," he snapped as he swerved to avoid a slow-moving pickup.

"Wh—"

"Red Line terminal. Leave McGee at NCIS with Abby," Gibbs ordered before slamming the phone shut and flooring the sedan.

* * *

Gibbs' blood ran cold as he pulled up to the scene to find none other than DiNozzo sitting in the back of an ambulance, wrapped tightly in an emergency blanket as if the fabric was the only thing keeping him safe. Metro cops milled around, taping off the gaping hole in the empty storefront.

DiNozzo looked terrible. His face was unnaturally pale still and judging by the way his clothes hung loosely on his frame, he had lost more than a few pounds during his hospital stay. Light stubble peppered his jawline, which only served to sharply contrast his sheet-white complexion. _What were you doing here, Tony? _Gibbs thought as he observed his Senior Field Agent. _And where the hell is Keenan?_

His agent was half-heartedly engaged in conversation with a blond EMT, and since he wasn't in a gurney, Gibbs hoped his agent wasn't hiding a deeper, more serious injury. He slammed the car door closed and stormed over to the ambulance.

Without addressing DiNozzo, he turned to the EMT who was hovering just outside the ambulance door. "He okay?"

"_He _is fine," Tony replied quickly before the peppy EMT could open her mouth.

Gibbs turned his gaze to the Italian who unhappily leaned back against the side of the ambulance in surrender.

"He popped a few of his stitches — we already sewed him back up though. In a few days, he should be as good as new," the bubbly technician elaborated.

"We should hope so," Tony muttered.

"What the hell were you doing here?" Gibbs demanded, having discerned that for the moment at least, his agent had received no serious injuries.

"Keenan called. Said he had important information about the Jackson case. Told me to come alone," Tony recited without any emotion or enthusiasm.

"And you did?"

"Well, _ye-ah_. I'm here, aren't I?" Tony recoiled slightly as Gibbs fixed him with a signature glare. "I didn't want to inconvenience you in case he was lying," he mumbled softly.

"Tony." Gibbs' heart nearly broke at his agent's words. "I'd rather be here than figuring out how I'm gonna get my boat out of the basement."

A small smile crossed Tony's face. "He dragged me into the store and was about to tell me something when shots were fired. We took cover, and I pulled my gun, but the shooter was gone. Never got a look at him. Keenan was hit in the left shoulder. I fixed him up as best I could then went to call for help."

"Where is Keenan now?" Gibbs coached, seeing his agent was hesitant to continue.

"Dunno."

"Whaddya mean you 'dunno'?"

"When I got back he was gone. I couldn't have been gone for more than a few minutes, but…" Tony trailed off, not knowing quite how to finish his statement.

Gibbs turned to the EMT. "What's he not telling me?"

The EMT sighed heavily. "There's no sign there was anyone else in that alley. Not now or in the past few days."

Concerned that Tony's condition was worse than he had previously thought, Gibbs reached over and placed his hand on the side of DiNozzo's face, gently lifting his upper eyelid and checking for a reaction, just as he had done with McGee earlier. Tony's pupils didn't react as fast as he would have liked, but there were no signs of concussion. If his team kept this selfless behavior up, Gibbs would be forced to enact a new rule about self-preservation, one that superseded all the rest.

Surprised by his boss' gesture, Tony was unprepared to shift before his boss made a second diagnosis. He vainly pulled away, but not before Gibbs caught a whiff of alcohol on Tony's breath.

"Have you been drinking?" Gibbs asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.

Tony waved his boss away. "That's not important! I didn't make this all up! Keenan was here!"

"You were drink—" Gibbs stopped as the EMT placed her hand on his shoulder, her gaze telling him that this was neither the time nor the place for this argument.

"You were drinking while on painkillers?" Gibbs hissed, his voice lower, feeling anger seeping into his veins at his agent's blatant disregard for his own personal health. He forced himself to breath, knowing his anger stemmed from deep concern for his Senior Field Agent as well as his inability to keep his own emotions at bay when one of his agents was injured.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the NCIS van arrive on scene and concerned agents and medical examiners pile from its interior. He spared a moment to wonder why McGee, Ducky and Palmer were also here, especially when he had given Ziva specific instructions to leave the younger agent at NCIS Headquarters, but his query was cut short when his second-in-command spoke up again.

"Not on painkillers."

"You're not on painkillers?" Gibbs asked incredulously.

"Didn't need 'em," Tony replied quietly, not wanting to further upset his boss.

Gibbs stared at his agent for a long moment, trying to keep his rage under control. Tony may have been blaming himself for Carson's death, but that was no reason to be stupid with his own health. He had almost died that day as well, but that little fact hadn't seemed to register with his agent. All DiNozzo cared about was the other people around him, and while that quality was commendable, it was about time he got a new worldview, one where he was just as important, if not more so, than those he protected on a daily basis.

The nurse was right, though. Given Tony's current condition, this was neither the time nor place for an intervention. That didn't mean his agent was getting off the hook easy, though. Tony was coming over to Gibbs' house, where he would be taking at least one, maybe two cold showers, and chugging a gallon of coffee until he was coherent enough to answer a few serious questions about his decisions for the last few days.

"Let's go, DiNozzo," Gibbs gently grasped Tony's bicep and began helping him out of the ambulance.

"No!" Tony ripped his arm out of Gibbs' grasp, grabbing the side of the ambulance as the world tilted dangerously and a strong tingling sensation radiated through his torso and into his limbs.

As he regained his equilibrium, he felt Gibbs place an arm on his shoulder, but he shrugged his boss away. "You need to look at the scene! Keenan was here, boss, I swear!"

"Let's just get you home, DiNozzo."

"If you believe me, then why the hell aren't you doing anything about it? Was it because you know I screwed up the other day? Is that it?"

If Gibbs had been an emotional man, his mouth just might have dropped open, but being the functional mute that he was, Gibbs continued to stare evenly at his second-in-command, his face deceptively blank, while his mind raced to comprehend the leap in logic Tony had just taken.

"You didn't screw up, Tony."

"Then why aren't you taking charge of this crime scene?"

"You're hurt, DiNozzo. Right now that's my priority."

"I'm not hurt!"

This was getting ridiculous. The man who was shot only three days ago was parading around trying to protect his team, when he really should be thinking of his own health. He was spiraling out of control, coming out here without backup, drinking after being shot, and who knows what else. His actions were only going to get him killed and Gibbs was not going to stand by while Tony destroyed his life. DiNozzo needed an intervention, and if Gibbs needed to be a bastard to do it, so be it.

"You mean to tell me, this—" Gibbs reached out and patted Tony's side, with a touch more force than absolutely necessary, not enough to cause any damage but enough to drag his agent back to reality, "doesn't hurt?"

Fire lanced through Tony's side, but he kept his face impassive. He shrugged off the thick emergency blanket, pushed away from the ambulance and parked himself across from his boss, arms crossed defiantly and jaw set.

"Not a bit," he gritted through clenched teeth.

"Oh, so you're fine then. Ready to come back to work tomorrow?"

"Jethro," Ducky placed his hand on the Lead Agent's bicep. "This is not the—"

"Its fine, Ducky," Tony interrupted. "Gibbs has something to say to me, he's more than welcome…Now's as good a time as any," he added with a slight shoulder shrug, trying to impart to Gibbs he had more important places to be.

_What the hell was wrong with him? Gibbs was here, being nice to him. He should be glad, for the time being, and just go with it. Why was he intentionally baiting his boss? Did he want Gibbs to be angry with him?_ And yet, though Tony knew he was acting strangely, he felt powerless to change his demeanor.

"So what, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, mild irritation laced in his tone. "You feel fine, but you stay home, drinking beer while a murderer's on the loose?"

"What the hell are you implying?" Tony hissed, involuntarily clenching his fists at his sides.

"I'm not implying anything," Gibbs took a step back in mock surrender. "I'm just confused how a guy too sick to work can run around the city endangering his life."

Tony's expression hardened. "Rule 18."

"Rule 15," Gibbs returned, sticking his nose so close to Tony's that they were practically touching.

"And just who did you want me to ask?" Tony bristled, his tone dripping with disdain.

"Me! McGee! Ziva! Sacks!"

"Oh Sacks?" Tony let out a humorless laugh. "The guy who arrested me for murder? Multiple times? That's rich, Gibbs."

"He's the best in the FBI!" Gibbs deflected, struggling to control the argument before this turned into a situation they were both going to regret. Tony had always been one who pushed back with momentum enough to match Gibbs' own when the Lead Agent was living up to his reputation, but tonight, even the Gibbs' gut couldn't have predicted that Tony was going to wear his heart on his sleeve for all to see. It was very uncharacteristic for the former cop and Gibbs was left wondering for the second time tonight if there was something else wrong with his agent.

"Hate to see the worst," Tony returned.

"It's better than going off alone!"

Tony really couldn't explain what happened next, but something within him snapped. Rage like he had never known before coursed through his veins to the point where he was almost literally seeing red. Gibbs did crazy shit like this all the time and he had never questioned his boss once; each time he'd allowed his boss to leave without any idea where he was going or if he'd ever return. Now, _he, _Tony DiNozzo, former cop, and all-around good guy,wanted to help out a witness to ensure that Iniguez went away for life and his boss had the _gall _to reprimand him…no, not today.

"Oh really Gibbs?" Tony's expression changed and his face took on one of feigned innocence. "Like you called someone when you went to visit Ari at that restaurant?"

"Careful, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled but Tony continued as if his boss hadn't spoken.

"Like when Maddie was being held for ransom? Like when any one of your old Marine buddies call?" With each example, his voice increased in volume until he was practically shouting at his mentor who stood merely inches away.

"Tony—" Ziva cut in, blinking in surprise at her partner's harsh words.

"Back off, Ziva," Tony snapped.

"Stand down! Both of you!" Ducky intervened, stepping between the two arguing men and shooting each a pointed look. "This—"

"Like when you went to Mexico to avenge your family's death?" Tony spat at his boss over Ducky's shoulder.

Gibbs opened and closed his mouth once or twice before his anger waned enough for him to speak. Tony may have been injured, but he had gone too far; he'd brought Shannon and Kelly into the disagreement. Tony knew there was a damn good reason he'd dealt with the situation by himself and, now, he had crossed the unthinkable line. That was insubordination at its finest, so while the father in Gibbs knew that this may not have been the best place for the reprimand, the Marine was screaming that this needed to be dealt with. After what Tony had just said, this was not going to end well regardless of how hard Gibbs tried to keep it civil.

"What's this all about DiNozzo? Wish you'd were lying in Autopsy instead of Carson so you wouldn't have to deal with her death?" Gibbs seethed, practically spitting with fury.

At what point would Tony finally realize that he was important, that people needed him around? Didn't he know that people didn't talk about his time on the _Seahawk _for a reason?

"Guess what? It didn't happen — ya didn't die. Now you can deal with it and find her killer, or stay home wallowing in pity. People die; we move on. That's how it works."

Tony sidestepped the elderly ME and stood in Gibbs' personal space, his eyes flashing. "You're. A. _Bastard._"

"I know."

"And how's that working out for you?"

"Great…until some big city detective tried to follow in my footsteps."

Gibbs regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, knowing he had gone too far.

Tony stepped back, his face contorted in a wince, Gibbs' words striking him as physically as a slap to the face. He tightened his fists until his knuckles turned white, struggling to keep himself from striking the man he trusted on a daily basis with his life.

Gibbs stood in silence, watching the emotions play across his agent's face, watching as Tony just stood silently, shaking his head in regret as if he somehow knew a day like this would come, watching the fist move slightly forward before Tony pulled it back.

Tony may have spoken out in anger, but Gibbs had reciprocated, ending up saying a sentence he truly didn't mean. The only way forward was to convince DiNozzo he was at fault.

"That wasn't…"

"Sure, sure," Tony drawled sarcastically. "The truth finally comes out! Yeah, 'it's good job Tony', 'you're irreplaceable DiNozzo', 'you're doing a helluva job Anthony' a few select times, but now I know how you really feel! How does it feel having that off your chest after all these years Gibbs? Do you feel relieved? The charade is over, the man behind the curtain has been revealed!"

"Tony," McGee piped up.

"Shut it, McGee," Tony snarled.

"That's not what I—" Gibbs began again.

"Don't, Gibbs. Tell you what? You want me off your team? Wish granted," Tony fumed. "I'll be out of your hair," he paused, putting his hand to his chin in a melodramatic contemplation, "or what's left of it—as soon as Iniguez gets the needle."

"DiNozzo—"

"Save it for someone who still cares what you think," Tony finished softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Tony, that wasn't what I meant," Gibbs spoke quickly in order to fit his sentence into one of Tony's breaks.

"Sure it wasn't," Tony replied, deep hurt prevalent in his green eyes. "But that doesn't change the outcome. I'm still retiring from NCIS. Consider this my two weeks notice."

With that, he stomped away, leaving Metro, the EMTs, and his former team staring slack-jawed at his retreating figure.

* * *

_Before you get out the tar and feathers, please reread the Author's Note at the beginning of the chapter. Again, there are extenuating circumstances that are leading to any OOCs, but I promise they are only temporary and will be explained. As an added bonus, it makes for some touching Tony/Gibbs scenes later._

_On a lighter note, thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome, especially since they let me know people are actually reading (and hopefully enjoying) _My Probie's Keeper!_ They can also give great feedback and bring to light ideas that I had not originally considered. Good (or bad), happy (or sad) I'd love to hear from you!_


	9. Chapter 9

Gibbs stared at Tony's back, unable to discern just how his intention to assist his agent had morphed into a full-blown argument.

"Jethro," Ducky said, his tone pregnant with disappointment.

"Not now, Dr. Mallard," Gibbs demanded, conveying his agitation by running his fingers through his hair. As if it wasn't enough that Tony and McGee had just been injured on a protection detail, now he and his Senior Field Agent had just gotten into the argument of the century that had ended in both of them saying things they hadn't meant.

When Gibbs had been appointed Lead Agent, he wanted to train his men (or women) to anticipate, to predict, to think for themselves: he never imagined his team would absorb so much more from him, including his disregard for his own personal health, his tendency to go off by himself when he was worried about the safety of his team and his rather demanding attitude.

When the words had slipped out, he had meant that he didn't want Tony following _those _particular traits, since his team was the most important thing to him. He would have rather Tony had called him to come deal with Keenan, if only so Gibbs knew Tony would be safe under Sacks' protection.

As if on cue, a dark-colored Crown Victoria pulled up and said FBI agent jumped out. He saw Tony storming off towards a borrowed Impala and ran after him. Though the words lost in the fierce wind, even Gibbs, who was not known for his impeccable eyesight, could see that Sacks was very unhappy with his charge.

Tony continued to ignore the FBI agent who was shouting and gesticulating wildly as he fumbled with his keys. This continued for at least a minute until Sacks had finally had enough. The incensed man reached over and grabbed Tony's shoulder, turning him around so they could converse face-to-face. Without hesitation, Tony completed the turn, grabbed Sacks' arm and flipped him in a judo throw rather similar to the one Gibbs had taught him in one of their many sessions in the NCIS gym.

Gibbs watched Sacks yell something from the ground and Tony drop the keys onto Sacks' stomach with short spoken instructions about the condition of the car. With a final glare toward the FBI agent, Tony reluctantly climbed into the back of the FBI sedan with Sacks' partner.

Sacks reached a hand in the air for help up, but Metro was too busy processing the scene and no one from NCIS was interested in helping the man who was failing at protecting their partner. He clasped the side mirror and pulled himself gently to his feet, almost falling again as the mirror slipped out of its socket. With a scowl in Gibbs' direction, the FBI agent carefully arranged himself in the Chevy and sped away.

Gibbs and DiNozzo had a serious chat coming, but the Gunny knew that wouldn't be a reality until whoever was after his team was caught and charged without any chance of parole.

"McGee," Gibbs shouted as he watched the FBI caravan leave.

"Yes, boss?" McGee replied, coming up to stand next to the Lead Agent.

"What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay at NCIS!"

"I _will not _sit at NCIS while my partner is in trouble," McGee responded, looking straight into Gibbs' eyes as he spoke.

The two remained there, glaring at each other for what felt like hours to the younger agent, but neither looked away. Palms sweating and eyes burning, Tim continued to lock stares with his boss until the older man finally nodded once.

"You do not leave Ziva's side. If you so much step around a corner without her say so, you'll be looking for a new job so fast your head will spin."

"On it, boss," McGee said with a small smile.

"Ziva!"

"Photograph the scene! Yes, Gibbs," she agreed, heading off toward the empty building with McGee in tow.

"Jethro," Ducky came up behind his longtime friend.

"Not the time, Duck."

But the elderly ME was undeterred. "I _do _advise you deal with this situation post haste. The longer a spat goes without being treated, the more the feelings fester between the two parties."

"I owe him one hell of an apology, don't I?" Gibbs asked, not really wanting a response.

"Maybe, but knowing Anthony, he won't accept it. Sign of weakness and all," Ducky added with a smirk.

Before Gibbs could respond, a burly Metro detective approached him.

"You Gibbs?"

The grey-haired man nodded.

"We've got something."

* * *

"Your boy gave us a statement while he was getting stitched up. He says the shot didn't come through either of the windows, but judging from his account, the bullet would have come through here," the detective said, pointing to a solid pane of wall.

Gibbs stood very close to the wall, raking his gaze over every inch of the concrete, looking for a hole, a dent, or a divet, anything that would suggest a gun had been fired from this position.

"My agent doesn't lie."

"I figured you would say that," the detective motioned to the CSU team standing at the doorway. "That's why I brought the ALS."

Since it was night, there was no need to dim the room. The lead tech turned on the ultraviolet light and focused it on the small pile of boxes on the left of the Dumpster. A few small specs brightened and the assistant tech quickly swabbed and labeled them.

The right of the Dumpster revealed two small half-moons separated by an almost circular patch of concrete.

Gibbs leaned closer and sniffed the untouched patch. "Bleach."

"This used to be a clothing store, Gibbs. I'm sure they used bleach from time to time."

Gibbs shook his head as the tech swabbed the two brightly lit patches with a phenolphthalein indicator and sprayed it with ethanol. "Too recent."

"That's blood," the tech announced as the swab turned a pinkish color.

"Human?" the Metro detective questioned.

The tech pulled a hemastix from her pouch and swiped it on the floor. "Yup."

"The quantity's too small for any sort of gunshot wound."

"Not if they covered the rest in bleach," Gibbs responded with a pointed glance towards the puddle.

"There's also these," the lead tech produced a small baggie with blue shards in it. "They were found to the left of the Dumpster, and before you ask, we had someone photograph the scene before we bagged the evidence.

"We suspect them to be shards of the Dumpster that may or may not be related to this case. The building's empty, kids come in here all the time for their parties and such. Lord only knows what goes on in a place like this any given day of the week."

Gibbs shook his head. It was too much of a coincidence for the shards to be unrelated to the case at hand. That meant something had been strong enough to split the metal.

"Ya find a cause?"

"No," the assistant tech began, "but we've found this." She pulled the Dumpster away from the wall to reveal a deep scratch in the concrete.

Gibbs leaned forward to better examine the hole. "Could be a bullet hole."

"But no bullet."

"My agent doesn't lie," Gibbs repeated fiercely.

The detective waved his hands in a motion that was meant to ask Gibbs to calm down. "Let's assume for a second that your boy was telling the truth and someone _did _shoot at Keenan. Do you mean to say that in the time your boy ran outside to call the cops, someone came in here, moved the body and dug out the bullet?"

Gibbs shrugged. "It's all we've got to go on for now."

"That's quite a stretch Gibbs…"

"NCIS' taking lead on this case," the agent stated, ignoring the Metro detective and snatching the samples from the tech, as he raised himself to his feet.

He never doubted Tony for a moment, but the scene raised some very important questions.

Who would shoot at his agent?

How did they manage to shoot through the concrete wall?

And, last but not least, where the hell was Keenan?

* * *

"Left, Mr. Palmer! Left!" Ducky cried from the passenger's seat where he sat with the large district map splayed over the dashboard.

"You said _right_ onto the Parkway, Doctor!" Jimmy cried in frustration as he slammed on the accelerator and moved two lanes to the left, leaving a multitude of screeching cars and honking horns in his wake.

"I said no such thing, Mr. Palmer," Ducky responded, pulling the map out of his face in order to glare at his assistant. Maybe Gibbs was right: it was never too late to start head-slapping the lad…

"Yes you did. I asked you if we should turn left onto the parkway and you said _right_."

"Right as in _correct_, Mr. Palmer, not right as in _the opposite of left_," Ducky groaned, lowering his head into his hands.

"Oh," Palmer breathed. "Sorry Doctor."

"Worry not, my friend. We are on the right track now," the elderly ME grinned at his pun.

They travelled about another mile on the GW Parkway before Palmer spoke up.

"There isn't anything…wrong…with Tony, is there?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've just never seen so many bad things happen to someone all at once, Doctor: first Miss Carson, then the Keenan incident…"

"Well my dear boy, luck is a tricky thing. It tends to wane and wax when we least expect it and are unable to do anything about it. Our Anthony is experiencing a bit of bad luck right now which should resolve itself in due time."

"I can't believe his life is unraveling so completely. If I didn't know him better, I would have thought he was completely crazy for saying someone had been shot when there was no body."

"Someone has an unusual plan for both Anthony and Timothy. Though I can't imagine what it is, I know that the case could not be in more capable hands."

"I concur, Doctor," Palmer took his eyes off the road for a second to smile warmly at his boss.

"Brake James! Brake!" Ducky shouted as the car in front of them slowed to a complete stop.

Palmer slammed his foot down on the brake and switched into the next lane in order to avoid a collision.

"That is it, Mr. Palmer. Pull over."

"But—"

"No buts, Mr. Palmer. That was the final straw!"

Jimmy protested as he pulled into the emergency lane and brought the van to a complete stop.

Ducky made his way around the van and opened Palmer's door. "You are distracted my dear boy. It will be better for both of us if you navigate."

"Yes Doctor," Jimmy agreed sourly as he vacated his seat.

"You don't have to worry Mr. Palmer. I can guarantee Jethro will find out who has done this unspeakable deed."

"Yes Doctor," Jimmy repeated as he slipped into the passenger's seat and flipped open the map. "Take a left at Seward, Dr. Mallard."

* * *

"We are searching the alley yet again for a bullet," Ziva said as she walked up and down the alley for the fourth time with a small metal detector, looking for any brass that may be hidden amongst the trash that littered the back alley. This search was in addition to her previous three searches where she had bagged every possible shred of evidence from cigarette butts to candy wrappers with partial footprints on them that could be related to their case.

"I can't believe he said that," McGee repeated for the umpteenth time, unaware Ziva had spoken, while he stood nose to nose with the wall, moving very slowly vertically, then taking one step over and repeating the process. While Ziva had insisted on searching the ground, claiming it would be less painful for his headache, he had combed every inch of the back wall at least twice, and had just begun his third sweep.

"You would think after all these years, they would have invented a machine that would scan the alleyways for us!"

"That's out of line, even for Gibbs."

"Why don't you invent something, McGee?" Ziva asked, looking up from a particularly nasty spot of unidentifiable chemical to realize her partner wasn't responding.

"And Tony, he shouldn't have said that either. What the hell is wrong with them?"

"McGee!"

"_What, _Ziva?" The computer geek asked, looking away from the wall irritably.

"There is nothing we could have done. Tony and Gibbs will resolve it on their own schedule. Right now, we have been instructed to prove Tony's innocence."

"And we've found nothing," McGee stated, straightening up to examine yet another patch of concrete.

"We have searched this alley for hours," Ziva agreed.

"I'm not giving up, Ziva. When I shot that cop," McGee swallowed hard as the bile rose in the back of his throat, "you and Tony didn't give up until you found the bullet. If Tony said someone shot at him, someone shot at him and injured Keenan. And until I find how it was done, I'm not leaving!"

"I didn't say that, McGee. What I meant to say was there is nothing on this wall."

"You mean nothing we've found _yet_."

"No, I mean nothing."

"So what are you saying?" McGee asked, whirling around and throwing his hands dramatically into the air. "We just give up? Go home? I don't think so!"

"What is that idiom you Americans use? If you fail to achieve, keep trying…Is that it?"

"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again," McGee muttered with a deep eye-roll as he returned his gaze to the wall.

"Exactly. We need to broaden our search. It was dark, what if Tony mistook the angle of the muzzle flash?"

"We'd be looking in the wrong wall," McGee realized, mentally Gibbs-slapping himself for not thinking of that himself. He turned around and was about to give Ziva a quick hug when the Israeli put up her hands in a defensive posture. McGee pulled back. "Ziva, you're a genius!"

"Why thank you, McGee. Now, if this were my assignment, I would have shot from here," she pointed to the far corner where the shooter would not be visible by those walking toward the Metro Station. "Less visibility and a better angle."

They walked toward the darkened area of the alley, all the while continuing to search for any bullet casings or other signs of stakeout.

After about a half an hour, Ziva stood dead still and raised her hand.

"What is it?" McGee asked, coming over to join her.

"Listen," she stomped on the ground directly beneath her and the ground to her left. There was a distinct difference between the two noises, the first having a slight resonating sound.

"It is hollow," McGee breathed.

Ziva nodded, continuing to follow the hollow sounds across the alley. She knelt down by a patch of ground and brushed aside the dirt.

"If this is a root cellar, the assailant could have snuck into the building. That would explain why there was no bullet hole in the wall."

"But that also means Tony was wrong about where the shooter was coming from, and maybe even who the shooter was aiming at."

"I'm sure Tony has greater things on his mind now, McGee, then worrying about whether he had the shooter's position correct or not."

Ziva carefully inspected the outer edges of the door for signs of an explosive device before pulling trap door open, releasing horribly rancid air directly into their faces.

"Flashlight," she instructed, reaching out to McGee who placed one in her palm like a nurse handing the surgeon a scalpel before grabbing one for himself.

"Look McGee," Ziva said, playing the light over the wood stairs. There were fresh footprints in the thick layer of dust.

McGee pulled out his temporary phone and dialed his boss. "We've found how our shooter got in the building."

* * *

Tony slammed the door closed as he reentered his house. Sacks brushed past him and immediately proceeded to clear every room of the small apartment while Tony stood in the entryway, gun pointed at his main room. He noted with satisfaction that the FBI agent was walking with a limp, even though he was trying hard to hide it.

"I have orders to keep you in my sight until the case is solved," Sacks repeated as if that would make the situation all right.

"I know where everything is," Tony sneered, sliding his weapon into the small of his back as he headed into the kitchen. He filled another glass of water from the sink, firmly swearing off the hard stuff since he did not want a repeat of today's incident. When Ducky had told him to stay hydrated, Tony had discarded the sentiment as "doctor's orders", but the ME hadn't been kidding: Tony had been practically dying of thirst since his…disagreement…with Gibbs.

He had spoken in anger and said things he knew he should not have, yet he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry, especially after what Gibbs had said in return. He knew he should be angry now, upset with his boss, apologetic even, but all he felt was empty, some form of shock Ducky would probably diagnose if he were around.

He threw back the water like it was a shot of whisky and refilled the glass.

"You break it, you buy it," he added as he stormed past the FBI agent who had plopped down on his sofa and was examining the items on the end table.

"He didn't mean it, you know," Sacks commented as he flipped through Tony's many cable channels.

"Who didn't mean what?" Tony sneered, halfway into his bedroom.

"Gibbs." Sacks set down the remote, having settled on a rerun of _Quantum Leap._

"He sure had a funny way of showing it."

"I mean it, DiNozzo," Sacks raised his voice to be heard. "That man would go to hell and back for you."

"Thanks for your input, Walt Disney, but not everything can have a fairy tale ending," Tony snapped as he marched into his bedroom and placed his weapon in his side drawer and his water glass on the nightstand before throwing himself onto the bed, wincing as the movement tugged on his new stitches.

What the hell was wrong with him this week? Was it written in his genetic code that he was physically unable to protect a witness? What else would explain his inability to do anything correctly this week?

His thoughts travelled once again to his and Gibbs'…conversation. Did his boss really believe he was just some big-city homicide detective who had fooled everyone into believing he was an NCIS agent? Tony didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it: cos it wasn't true, it couldn't be true. After everything the man had taught him, he was _upset_ that he had chosen Tony for his team…that didn't make sense.

If Vance would have been there, he would have agreed with Gibbs and probably sent the man an Edible Arrangement basket afterward for voicing the opinions about DiNozzo he had been feeling since day one. Tony had always known that Vance had never liked him and really that was fine. Their mutual hatred for each other had never really been an issue after the whole _Seahawk _incident. Ignoring that stint in Mexico with the "observe and report" about Alejandro Rivera, he'd always reported straight to Gibbs who butted heads with Vance on a daily basis. But now that his _boss, _the man who he had looked up to for all these years and subconsciously modeled himself after had essentially called him a poser, there was really no reason for him to stick around any longer. After Iniguez' trial, Gibbs never had to worry about where he was going to stay when his boiler broke again, what he was up to on his weekends, or whether he was really home sick or just taking a mental health day.

A shrill ringing interrupted his reverie and Tony glanced at his nightstand to see his cellular phone vibrating fiercely.

He picked up the device and glanced at the caller ID. Gibbs.

Rage not dissimilar to the anger he had felt earlier flooded through his veins, bringing with it the hurtful words Gibbs had spoken earlier. Before Tony could even stop to think, he had thrown the phone across the room, sending it slamming into the far wall and shattering into at least six pieces.

He heard uneven footsteps approaching from front room and a loud banging on his door.

"DiNozzo, what the hell is going on in there?"

Staring in shock at what was left of his phone, the manifestation of his inability to control his temper, Tony made his way to the bedroom door and popped it open, catching Sacks with his foot raised, ready to kick down the door.

"Dropped a glass. Sorry," he mumbled before gently closing the door in the agent's shocked face.

He walked into the bathroom and grabbed a towel in which to place the small piece of his phone. Bending down, he began picking up the largest pieces before he forgot about them and stepped on one later that evening. He was having a hard time concentrating on the small pieces in front of him, accidently reaching too far for one piece of circuitry and slicing open his index finger.

He dropped the screen pieces he had gathered and immediately stuck it in his mouth to slow the bleeding. Damn. As if the events of this morning just weren't enough, now he was physically incapable of picking up pieces of glass without hurting himself? He made a mental note to purchase a rabbit's foot, a four-leaf clover and a horseshoe before heading…wherever he would be heading.

He heard shuffling footsteps behind him, but didn't look up, knowing it was probably Sacks, who had been threatened by Gibbs to keep an eye on him at all times.

He pulled his finger from his mouth and, pleased to see the bleeding had slowed, pinched it tightly against his thumb. "This is the definition of a red light offense," he informed the intruder. "I'm not in the mood to file a complaint with the DOD, Sacks."

"Who's Sacks?" a feminine voice asked.

Tony dropped the glass pieces he had been collecting and spun around at the sound of the voice.

"Kate?"

* * *

_Now really, how many of you were expecting that? _

_Up next, we'l__l see more case-related material, whether Tony has really gone crazy, and a Tony/McGee conversation about the events of the last few days. I hope you'll stick around!_

_Thanks for reading! Please review!_


	10. Chapter 10

Abby danced between the boxes and boxes of evidence that were piled around her lab from both the safe house and the storefront while machines buzzed, beeped and analyzed their samples. She paused in front of her computer and took a large swig of Caf-Pow! vacuuming up every last caffeinated bit before chucking it into the trash can where it came to rest next to four of its siblings. Grabbing a specimen jar from the crowded table, she squirted some of the fluid on a slide and, whirling around in perfect sync with the Death Eaters' Greatest Hits, she stopped in front of the microscope.

While she was examining the sample, Abby heard the elevator beep and counted the fifteen seconds she knew it took her boss to walk into her lab before speaking.

"I don't have anything yet Gibbs. Just a lot of random data that doesn't mean anything yet, but my babies know this is important and are working as hard as they can on it. We should have something soon."

The Death Eater's track switched to Brain Matter's latest single, but there was no response from her boss.

"I can't work with you here Maestro. I need you to go upstairs and do Bossman stuff so I can call you back down here when I have something."

She finished determining the liquid in the jar was bleach, though she suspected as much from the smell, and looked up to see her Silver Fox leaning casually against the refrigerator, holding a Caf-Pow!

She dodged a box of unidentified substances that was lying on the floor and snatched the Caf-Pow! from his grasp.

"Weren't you listening?" she asked after taking a deep draw of the red liquid.

"Yup."

"Well?"

"When was the last time you got some rest, Abby?" Gibbs asked, noting the deep circles under her eyes and tired, unfocused look in her green eyes.

The Goth was taken aback by the non sequitur.

"What do you mean?"

"Sleep," Gibbs repeated, laying his head on his hands and closing his eyes for a second.

Abby thought hard, moving the toe of her platform boot in small circles on the tile. "Yesterday morning. I fell asleep while Major Mass Spec was running the skin samples from Ducky," she confessed guiltily.

"Before that?"

"A few days ago."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't have time for this Gibbs," Abby said as she placed her Caf-Pow! next to Bert before dumping a new box of evidence onto her table. She began pulling out carefully labeled plastic baggies and placing them in the queues she had set up earlier in front of each of her babies. Judging by the length of the lines, Gibbs estimated the machines would be working for at least a week analyzing all the samples that had been gathered at the scenes.

He pulled a large sandwich from behind his back and laid it next to the Caf-Pow!

"Eat that and drink less of those," he instructed, motioning to the Caf-Pow! "What's DiNozzo gonna say when he comes back to find you've run yourself ragged?" he added, knowing that even though the two did not share a romantic relationship, they cared very deeply about each other. There had been many an occasion when Tony had resorted to practically tattling that Abby had not yet left her lab in order to get Gibbs to intervene on the Goth's behalf, giving her the choice to go home willingly for a few hours or having her locked out of the security system for an indeterminate amount of time.

Abby's eyes widened in shock and her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh God, I completely misread the signs. You came here, bought me a Caf-Pow! and food and told me to take care of myself. Something's happened to Tony – Timmy told me there were shots fired but Tony was fine and he was ordered to go home by you. I broke Rule Three, Gibbs: I believed what that lying, little MIT-grad told me – oh boy is he going to get it the next time I see him. Okay, Bossman," she paused and took a deep breath. "I'm ready for it. What's wrong with Tony, Timmy, Ziva, Ducky, Palmer or yourself? And don't lie to me, cos I can tell when you're lying."

"We're all fine, Abs," Gibbs reassured her. _Nothing a long session at the gym, followed by some beers and a heart-to-heart couldn't fix, _he thought to himself, not wanting to worry the Goth further.

Abby narrowed her eyes at her boss. "You just lied to me: you looked down and to the left," she observed, her tone softening. "What aren't you telling me, Gibbs?"

One of her machines began flashing behind Abby's back, saving Gibbs from answering her original question.

"You've got something," he stated, pointing at the monitor.

"Gibbs—"

"Not now, Abs."

With a deep sign, she switched her attention to her computer. "Not just one something," she stated. Abby continued typing at her computer while Gibbs stood expectantly by her side.

"Today, Abby?" he asked after a long moment of silence.

"I'm working on it Gibbs. I'm just a little worried about why you aren't telling me what happened at the—"

"Ab-by!"

"Okay, okay. Here we go: it will take at least another eight hours for a full analysis on the swabs from the storefront but the hemastix test you ran was conclusive. The substance at the scene was most definitely human blood."

"Keenan's?"

"Don't know yet, but the blood's type AB."

"Keenan's AB."

"Well that's a start. On that same tangent, McGee and Ziva traced the underground passage to this corner," she pulled the picture of the storefront onto the plasma. "Given the time of day and the position of the windows, there is no way Tony would have seen the shooter."

"How'd CSU miss it?"

"How do they miss anything?" Abby countered with a small grin. "But seriously, the shooter was very careful. He cut out the tile inline with the grout," she clacked a few keys and the picture of the tile corner appeared on the plasma. "If you didn't know it was there, you'd never have seen it. The hinges were also recently greased so they wouldn't squeak when opened.

"On to the slightly better news," she pulled up a picture of the stairs on the plasma. "See that?"

"No," Gibbs replied stepping closer to the screen.

"How 'bout now?" she magnified the picture. There were two staggered footprints but one had a heavier toe print that stretched for a few inches.

"He tripped."

"Yup, our shooter tripped going down the stairs and probably reached out to steady himself."

"You get a match?"

"Patience, Gibbs. I already called McGee: they're getting me some samples from the general area and hopefully I can get a print or match some DNA. But you want the really great news?"

The Lead Agent remained silent, waiting for the Goth to continue.

"Fine, Gibbs, I can see you're not in the mood. These boots are specially made by Betula, a manufacturer in Germany. They have an outlet here, but the quality is not even close to being the same."

"Traceable?"

"No, but I can say with 100% certainty that this person was also at the original scene." A few mouse clicks later and two shoe prints appeared. "The one on the left is from Carson's safe house and the one on the rights in from the staircase. See that," she pointed to the large crack in the heel of the shoe.

Gibbs leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. "That's good work, Abs."

Abby smiled proudly and grabbed Bert from his perch above the computer screen. She squeezed him tightly as Gibbs left the lab, producing the rather unusual noise that always made her feel better for some reason.

"We'll find them, Bert," she reassured her hippo. Then she paused: there was something wrong with the way Bert was acting. Usually he was a little cheerier when she had found something important.

She examined her stuffed animal more closely. "What is it, Bert?"

She crouched down and followed his line of sight. "Oh, Major Mass Spec has something for me! His beeper must be broken again! What a smart hippo you are!" she lauded her animal.

Abby gently placed Bert down on the table and dashed over to her Mass Spectrometer.

She looked at the results printout and gasped. "This is _so _not good."

* * *

"You're not real," Tony informed the figment of his imagination that was standing not two feet away from him.

"Of course I'm real, DiNozzo. Unless you've made a habit of seeing dead people?" she smirked. Kate Todd walked past her partner and into his bathroom where she took a second to evaluate the interior decorations. Nodding her approval, she riffled through his drawers until she located the worn first aid kit.

She wordlessly handed Tony a Band-Aid, knelt down next to her former partner and began to pick the phone pieces off the floor.

"That's not funny," Tony returned.

"Of course it is."

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but then caught himself. "What am I saying? I saw…I saw you die. You can't be here…now…in my room…"

"Oh, I'm real, DiNozzo," Kate said, reaching out her hand. "Touch me."

"_Not _in that way," she amended as a mischievous grin crossed Tony's face. "Just take my hand, DiNozzo."

Tony cautiously reached out, his fingers barely brushing Kate's skin. It felt like a normal hand: soft, warm… If it was _warm_ that meant there was still blood pumping through her person. But if that was true, that meant he was completely losing what little sanity he had left.

"This can't be happening," he breathed.

"Oh, it's happening."

"Let's just pretend for a microsecond that I'm dreaming this whole thing. Which would technically be a dream within a dream, kinda like the movie _Inception _if you get my drift."

Kate stared at him blankly as she finished collecting the last bits of phone.

"Never mind then. Your ghostly self clearly never has time to make it to the movie theater. But that's beside the point. What I meant to ask you is _why are you here_?"

"Because you need someone to talk to."

"About what exactly?"

"I dunno," Kate shrugged. "Life, death, the _Pursuit of Happyness_?"

"Now I know I'm dreaming. Kate Todd is here in my bedroom, fully clothed, and making movie references." Tony sunk his head into his hands and groaned loudly.

Kate shuffled over and ran her hands in circles over Tony's back. "Dreaming or not, I'm here for you DiNozzo, for as long as you need me to be."

The two sat in a comfortable silence before Tony spoke up.

"I miss you Kate." _I miss you Kate? _he grimaced as soon as the words had left his mouth. _She wasn't even real! Why the hell was he speaking to an empty room, pretending his former partner was here, and unloading his innermost feelings to her? Maybe too many years on the job was causing him to act like Jack Torrance in _The Shining_…Maybe it was a good thing he was moving on…_

"I miss being here too," Kate admitted. "That job at NCIS was the best thing that had ever happened to me."

"Your sister stopped by a few weeks ago," Tony said, cringing as he realized that might bring up unwanted feelings.

"I know."

_Clearly since she was dead, I'm imagining this whole situation. So she would know that her sister stopped by since _I _know her sister visited. _Tony scrubbed his face with his hands. "Of course you knew. That was a stupid comment."

"So, what was she like?"

"Well, she's a lot like you. Smart, sweet, kinda hot."

"I may be a figment of your imagination, DiNozzo, but I can still kick your ass for thinking about my sister like that," Kate growled.

Tony raised his hands in surrender. "You asked. I was just being honest."

A loud knock on the door interrupted Kate's retort.

"Go away Sacks," Tony said loudly.

"It's not Sacks," McGee's voice returned.

"Well then, go away McGee."

"I'm not going anywhere, DiNozzo. When I thought I had made the mistake that would have ended my career, a wise man told me 'you don't want to be alone tonight'. So I'm here telling you 'you don't want to be alone tonight'."

"He was wrong."

"Just open the door Tony."

"No!" Tony panicked before realizing that McGee couldn't see Kate anyway, especially considering the fact that _she wasn't real_! He turned around to see where Kate was, but she was no longer sitting next to him.

He sprang to his feet and checked the bathroom, making sure his delusion hadn't just gotten up without his noticing, but he was the only one in his bedroom. As quickly as she had arrived, Kate Todd, or at least her ghost, was gone.

Tony heard the door rattling and decided to save McGee the trouble of picking the lock. He pulled the door open dramatically, a small grin crossing his features as the Probie fell backwards in surprise.

To his credit, the younger agent picked himself up as if nothing had happened and pushed into Tony's room.

"You didn't see anyone go past you in the hallway?" Tony asked cautiously, reassuring himself that he wasn't completely crazy.

"Like whom?"

"Forget I mentioned it," Tony walked over to the window and pulled it shut, wincing as the rusted metal ground against the frame. There was no way Kate could have opened that without his knowing. Oh right, she wasn't actually there, but then, who opened the window?

"So, what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"Well, I'd've been a little worried if you'd've come to see Slacks, considering he tried to convict me of murder. Twice."

There was an awkward silence between the two that stretched on for a few minutes. McGee settled himself on the small chest of drawers that sat at the end of Tony's bed while DiNozzo opted for bed itself.

"How's the nose?" Tony asked, seeing the bruising had gone down considerably in the last few days.

"It's getting better. Hurts a little less every day."

"Well I'm glad to hear it."

Another uncomfortable silence reigned, this one slightly shorter than the last.

"You thirsty?" Tony asked, offering McGee his untouched glass of water. "It's a little mineral-ly and slightly gross, but its water."

McGee shook his head. "Gibbs didn't mean it, you know."

"Yeah, McGee? Then why did he say it?"

"People who care about each other say things they don't mean when they're worried."

"Yeah well McGee that doesn't make it okay."

"I know, but it happens in families all the time and everyone knows you two consider the team the closest thing to a family either of you have."

"I won't argue with you there. So…in this whole family situation, what happens next?" Tony asked in complete honesty. His family had never been one for touchy, feely emotions so this was uncharted territory for him. His most serious confrontation with his father had lead to his enrollment in the Rhode Island Military Academy and in all his relationships, the minor issues had been easily resolved with a deep kiss and a promise for another incredible night. In all his years at Gibbs' partner, he had _never _been in a fight of this magnitude. He was so unsure how to resolve this situation positively that he was willing to take advice from anyone…yes, even the Probie.

McGee was silent as he considered how to best answer the question. He had been working with Tony for seven years, but was still amazed by the childhood his partner appeared to have had and how he had managed to be successful in life without knowing how to resolve with an argument with people about whom he actually cared.

"You get mad, you fight," McGee shrugged, "you stew, you give them the cold shoulder, they don't return your calls, then you finally sit down and talk it out. And, yeah, it takes some time before the feelings are gone, but eventually people can get over it."

"That the real story or the Thom E. Gemcity version?"

"A little bit of both," McGee admitted.

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the ringing of McGee's phone.

His partner was silent, offering only the occasional "yes, boss," before snapping the phone shut.

"A body was pulled out of the Potomac. Initial description matched Keenan's. Gibbs wants us on the scene." McGee snapped the phone shut and headed for the door. "Don't let this go for too long, Tony. He really cares about you and I know you feel the same about him."

"That's kinda nice—"

"That and I'd hate to be Senior Field Agent on his team—my head's a little too sensitive for the amount of Gibbs-slaps you receive." McGee headed for the door quickly before Tony decided to give him the head-slap of the century.

"Wait, McGee." The Probie stopped in the hallway and turned back to face his partner.

"Be careful," Tony said softly.

"All-ways, DiNozzo."

"I mean it, McGee. I'm not there to watch your six. If you come back with so much as a chipped nail, I will ride you so hard it will make your Probie hazing look like a birthday party."

McGee gulped loudly, his eyes wide in fright.

"Don't think I won't, Probie. You haven't even cracked the surface of my initiation tactics."

A smile tugged at the corners of McGee's mouth for he knew the threat veiled Tony's concern for his well-being.

"Got it, DiNozzo," he replied as he headed to the waterfront at which the body had been found, hoping that Keenan's body would offer more answers than questions.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Hope to see you in the next chapter when Team Gibbs discovers what is really going on, but by that time, will it be too late for Tony and McGee?_

_Please drop me a line and let me know what you thought! I love hearing from you!_


	11. Chapter 11

"Tell me you have something," Gibbs demanded as he marched into Autopsy to find the Medical Examiners bent over James Keenan's remains.

"That depends on what you mean by something, Jethro," Ducky replied. "I have a great many somethings from Mr. Keenan here, only a few of which will make any sense to you now."

"Ducky," Gibbs growled.

"Yes, Jethro, of course. I am aware time is of the essence."

The elderly ME cleared his throat before beginning. "Mister Keenan here was the recipient of two gunshot wounds: one to the left shoulder that entered the aortic chamber as young Anthony's report so clearly states. The bullet pierced his aortic valve, leaving our victim with only a few minutes to live—"

"It's a wonder he held on for as long as he did," Jimmy interjected, blushing as Gibbs fixed him with a sharp glare. "I'm going to go…take these samples to Abby," he decided quickly and scurried from the room.

"Young Mister Palmer is correct. The lad should have lost consciousness within a minute, let alone speaking to Anthony for that length of time."

"That all?"

"Not in the least," Ducky motioned Gibbs over so he had a clear look at the small hole between Keenan's sightless eyes. "The lack of bruising or bleeding around this wound indicates that Mr. Keenan had expired long before this bullet was administered. The lack of fluid in his lungs also suggests that he had passed before he was so cruelly tossed into the Potomac."

Ducky fell silent for a moment. "If I may be so bold as to prognosticate, I am reminded of the similarities between this case and Miss Carson's death."

"Someone's killing the witnesses from the Iniguez' case."

"My sentiments exactly."

Both men looked up as the Autopsy doors whooshed open and McGee and Ziva walked in.

"You need to see this, Gibbs," Ziva stated, not bothering with formalities, handing two large evidence baggies to the Lead Agent.

Gibbs squinted at the objects in the bag: one was a red and cream-colored letterman's jacket with eight large varsity patches crudely stitched to the front and an enormous OSU patch that dominated the upper breast pocket, and the other was a dark brown leather belt.

"Tony's," he breathed. The jacket was obviously the former varsity athlete's, but the hand-sewn belt had been a gift from Jackson last Christmas after Gibbs' father discovered that Tony had worn the white sweater he had given him for two weeks straight without a single wash. From that point on, he had sent small gifts to Jethro's entire team during each holiday season.

"Metro found these in a Dumpster about a mile from where the body was dumped. Keenan's wallet was there as well," Ziva explained, holding up the bag containing the witness' money clip.

"Tony was telling the truth," McGee declared with an affirmative nod.

"You doubted him?" Gibbs looked up from the evidence bags and stared expectantly at the young agent.

The smile slipped from McGee's face. "Uh…no, boss, never. It's just now we have concrete evidence that someone is after our witnesses."

Gibbs nodded once and handed the bags back to Ziva. "That's good work, both of you. Get those to Abby, then find what Metro missed. I want a full sit-rep within the hour."

"Yes, boss," the two replied as they hurried up to the bullpen.

* * *

Half an hour later, Ziva was at her wits' end. She had been uploading the photos from the newest scene onto her desktop but her progress was retarded by a rather nasty virus had been circulating through all NCIS computers. The few working servers were overloaded and even this simple act was taking hours.

It did not help that Tony's phone had not stopped ringing all morning. Actually, it had not stopped ringing for the last two days. She knew her partner was a walking contradiction, yet could not help being surprised by the fact that the man who had difficulties checking his email had managed to change his landline's ringtone to the _Magnum, P.I. _theme song.

"McGee," Ziva hissed to her partner, who was just as irritated with the tinny melody. "I cannot concentrate while his phone is going off every few minutes!"

"What do you want me to do about it?" Tim asked without looking up from his monitor.

"I do not know! Answer the phone, maybe, so we can get some work accomplished before Gibbs returns."

"Oh no, no, Ziva. _I'm_ not going to answer it—the last time I answered Tony's phone, he harassed me about it for weeks because I didn't ask why she called."

"And he will not do the same to me?" Ziva questioned as the phone blessedly stopped ringing. She breathed a sigh of relief and returned to uploading the photos, taking full advantage of the silence.

Only a few seconds later, the phone shrilled again.

She slammed the mouse down. "Answer the phone, McGee! It's clearly important."

"Which is why I shouldn't answer it. Tony would never yell at you for answering his phone!"

"We will Rock, Paper, Scissors for it," Ziva decided, "that is fair, no?"

"Fine." McGee shook out his hand and stood in the center of the room, staring down his partner.

Ziva sauntered over from her desk, blowing once on her right hand before resting it in her left. "You may count."

"Rock…paper…scissors!" McGee counted, bringing his fist down one final time and splaying his hand.

He looked up to see Ziva holding her two fingers in "scissors".

"Best two out of three."

"No, you lost, fair and square. Now please answer the phone."

McGee grumbled something unintelligible as he lifted Tony's phone.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo's desk….No, he's currently out of the office…I am Special Agent Timothy McGee…"

Suddenly, he waved wildly with his hand, motioning Ziva over to Tony's desk. He punched the Hands-Free button and dropped the handset back into the cradle as the two of them huddled over the speakerphone.

"This is Warden Johnson from the United States Penitentiary here in Leavenworth. I'm glad I finally got a hold of one of you—I've been calling for days. Here's the deal: one Anthony DiNozzo was the Lead Agent responsible for convicting Mark Sheldon give years ago on three accounts of drug dealing and one account of attempted murder. Sheldon here's asking for an appeal, citing that his arresting officers mishandled evidence and berated a confession out of him. He coughed up enough dough for a big-city lawyer, and she is rumored to have positive evidence that states her client was wrongfully convicted. Me, I think it's a load of crap, but them's the breaks. On account that you two were the arresting officers, the judge is requesting your presence at the hearing which is tentatively scheduled for the 10th of November at 2:00 here in Kansas. We still have your depositions on trial, but the judge is asking that you appear so we can close this case once and for all."

"Did you say _Sheldon_?" Ziva asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"That is a large coincidence," she said.

"Gibbs doesn't believe in coincidences."

McGee and Ziva exchanged a quick glance before Ziva dashed over to her computer and pulled Mark Sheldon's information on the plasma.

"Shall I tell the judge you'll be testifying?" Warden Johnson asked.

"We'll get back to you on that one," McGee promised as he disconnected the call.

"Sheldon has one brother Nathaniel, who is suspected to be Iniguez' second in command," McGee read from the family history. "All we know for sure is that he handles the legal portion of Iniguez' estate."

"The man in the bar said that Fries and Talbot were complaining about their boss," Ziva recalled, "His name was something like Neal, and it definitely started with an _N_."

"Sheldon is trying to discredit the both of us so his brother will walk at his appeal."

"Was I not also an arresting officer? If so, why was I not targeted."

"We arrested Mark in July of '05 after he was caught selling to the Naval Academy students. It was one of Tony's first weeks as Lead Agent after Gibbs…well, you know. I may be mistaken, but didn't Director Sheppard send you to Israel with important documents for your father's eyes only?"

"Yes, McGee, I do believe you are correct. I spent an additional week working on Israel's threat assessments for Jenny before my return."

"His appeal is this weekend," Tim said, flipping through his desk calendar.

McGee looked up and caught Ziva's gaze.

"Tony's in trouble," they said in unison.

Tim bent down and grabbed his keys and SIG Sauer from his desk drawer. It would do no good to call DiNozzo since his phone was lying in at least ten pieces on his nightstand. "Tony's phone's broken. I'm going to go stay with him while you find Gibbs and meet us there."

Ziva stuck out her arm, keeping McGee from leaving. "I am the faster driver and this way, the two of you will remain separated, assuming Talbot and Fries are still after the both of you."

McGee brushed by her. "That is exactly why you need to find Gibbs. The way the two of you drive, you'll probably beat me there."

"McGee, I do not think—"

Tim spun around and fixed her with a deadly glare. "With DiNozzo and Gibbs out of the office, I am the highest ranking agent in this room. I am ordering you to go find Gibbs and meet me at Tony's apartment."

Ziva pulled her hand back, causing McGee to flinch. "Please," he amended as the look in her eyes darkened.

The Israeli considered for quick second before relaxing her hand. "You are correct. I will also call Sacks and alert him to the new situation."

"Be careful, McGee," she added as the elevator doors slid closed, even though she knew he could no longer hear her.

There was no time to wait for the elevator. She dashed down the stairs into Abby's lab in record time, knowing it would be faster to check both Autopsy and Abby's lab than to try to reach Gibbs on his cell phone.

"Where is…Gibbs?" she panted as she arrived at Abby's lab. She slowed her pace as the Goth remained silent, clutching Bert tightly against her chest, all the while rocking quickly back and forth on her platform boots.

Ziva's heart skipped a beat. "What is wrong?"

"Oh, Ziva, this is not good. Not good at all—"

"Abby, we do not have time for this right now. Please tell me what you have found as quickly as you can."

The Goth took a deep breath. "I ran the samples from the storefront and found traces of hyoscyamine. At first I thought it was Keenan's, but I was wrong. I found a larger amount on Tony's jacket, in the areas untouched by Keenan's blood. This drug is pretty serious stuff, Ziva: its side effects include irrational behavior, uncontrollable rage, the shakes, extreme bouts of dizziness and dry mouth."

Something clicked in Ziva's mind. "So, he may have said things that he may or may not have meant while under this drug's influence?"

"If was being dosed at the time, which I suspect he was, he wasn't thinking clearly and probably said a lot of things he didn't mean…" Abby narrowed her eyes at the Israeli. "What exactly did he say?"

"Another time, Abs," Gibbs' voice came from behind the two women, starting both of them.

"We caught a break in the case," Ziva informed her boss. "We need to get to Tony's house now. I will fill you in on the way."

"Where is McGee now?"

"He is en route to Tony's," Ziva related as she and Gibbs headed out of Abby's lab.

"Wait!" Abby demanded, sprinting into the elevator at the last second, Bert still pressed tightly against her. "There's more. I've been studying the pictures of the first crime scene, you know, the safe house?" She swiped her finger across her iPad and brought the pictures onto the screen. "I thought it was unusual that the two men would injure Tony and Timmy, but leave them to burn in the fire so I took a second look—you're going to love what I've found."

She was talking as fast as humanly possible with words barely understandable by Ziva or Gibbs.

"A little slower, Abs?" Gibbs asked.

The Goth took a deep breath and began again, a fraction slower than before. "Okay, so, Tony and Timmy were meant to live. The fire was only supposed to burn Carson's remains. You can see from the deeper ashes where the gasoline was poured more liberally. Now look at this," she pointed to a darker line that traced from the bathroom to the back exit. "Their container was leaking. Without knowing it, they dripped gasoline all the way to the back of the house, where the fire spread to the curtains, and then to the rest of the house. World's smartest villains, I think not, but then again, we wouldn't be able to catch them if they didn't screw up."

Gibbs leaned over and gently kissed Abby's forehead as the elevator screeched to a stop. "That's good work, Abby."

"Now you need to hear this," Ziva drew Gibbs' attention to herself as they collected the gear from the squad room and called a second elevator. Abby trailed behind, listening intently to their conversation. "Mark Sheldon was a drug dealer Tony and McGee busted five years ago during your hiatus. His brother, Nathaniel Sheldon, is Iniguez' business associate. Mark is up for appeal in seven days and his lawyer is certain he had concrete evidence that the conviction was coerced."

"Why are we just hearing about this now?" the Lead Agent growled.

"When Tony and McGee investigated the case, Nathaniel had not yet publically joined Iniguez' operations, though he was thought to have been manipulating events long before his brother was arrested."

"So this is some elaborate plan to discredit Tony and Timmy?" Abby asked, a look of abject horror on her face.

"It appears that way, Abby," Ziva confirmed.

"That would explain why Keenan wanted to talk to Tony. He had been set-up to witness the murder of Petty Officer Jackson."

"But why not just kill them?" Ziva questioned. "Dead men say no words."

Neither Gibbs nor Abby found this an appropriate time to correct her jumbled idiom.

"They'd already been deposed so their sworn statements would still be used in court," Gibbs explained. "Sheldon needed to discredit them and build reasonable doubt in the jurors."

There was silence as the agents stepped into the second elevator.

"Bring them back, Gibbs," Abby pleaded.

"Always do, Abs," Gibbs looked her straight in the eyes, his gaze giving her all the reassurance she needed that he would not stop until his agents were safe.

* * *

McGee pulled up to Tony's apartment and parked just behind the FBI sedan, noticing how unusually quiet the entire block was. Granted, it was a Monday night, but still, the college neighborhood was not known for its silent retirement home-atmosphere.

He exited the vehicle in a quick motion and hurried over to the FBI sedan. As he approached, he noticed flecks of safety glass littering the area around the driver's door. His pulse quickened and his heart pounded even harder than before as he drew his weapon from its holster and clicked off the safety.

He pulled away from the car and aimed his weapon at the front seat of the sedan. Sacks' partner sat in the driver's seat, his head resting listlessly against the steering wheel. McGee spun around and checked the surrounding area for any signs of the assailant, but the street was quiet and still. His gun still raised, Tim reached through the door frame, reaching for the agent's carotid artery. The pulse was faint, but present—the agent would live for now, until Gibbs caught up with him…

_This was so very bad. _ McGee knew it was proper protocol to wait for backup, but the unconscious FBI agent signified Talbot, Fries, or Sheldon's presence. This was up to him now, and Tim needed to act fast if he was going to protect his partner.

McGee assumed the Weaver stance and entered the apartment complex. Thankfully, there was no one present at the front desk so he crept slowly for the staircase, straining his ears to hear the smallest noises in the empty complex.

He encountered no one on the stairs and turned the corner onto Tony's floor to find the hallway as barren as the rest of the building. He approached DiNozzo's room number, his stomach sinking as he found the door slightly ajar.

Tim crouched by the entrance and peered through the crack between the door and the jamb. He saw Sacks slouched over on the couch, blood trickling from a wound in his right shoulder, but was unable to see anyone else in the front room.

He took a deep breath to gather his courage before poking his SIG into the crack and throwing open the door while pressing himself against the wall in case someone decided to open fire.

When no shots came, he burst through the doorway, gun moving from side to side as he cleared the front room. McGee spared a quick second to ensure the FBI agent was still breathing before heading off to check the guest bedroom and master bath. Though there were two unconscious FBI agents, there were no signs that anyone else had been in the small apartment, other than Tony and Sacks.

McGee paused outside Tony's bedroom door, turning the knob gently and grimacing as it refused to rotate. He pressed his ear to the door, listening for any signs of life, but could only hear the blood racing through his ears.

After a few long seconds, he kicked the door down.

He surged into the room, his heart practically stopping as he caught sight of Tony lying facedown on the ground, bleeding from a deep gash above his temple.

He forced himself to remain calm, knowing he was more likely to make an error when he let his emotions guide his actions. He shot one last look at DiNozzo and breathed a deep sigh of relief as he saw Tony's chest rise and fall slightly.

"Tony?" McGee whispered as began systematically clearing every section of the large master bedroom but there was no response from the Senior Field Agent.

After determining the master bedroom was indeed free of any additional assailants, McGee turned his attention to his injured partner.

A small voice in the back of his head told him that this was too easy, that he was being set-up, but he didn't listen, knowing he had followed protocol and cleared every room in the apartment: no one else was there.

Tim crouched beside DiNozzo and gently flipped him over, quickly determining that the head wound was the only injury the Italian had received.

Suddenly, McGee heard a slight creaking noise and he saw a heavy object racing toward his head.

He tried to pull back, but he had reacted too late. The object smashed into the side of his head, rendering McGee unconscious before his body hit the floor.

* * *

_I wanted to post this chapter much earlier in the week, but my FanFiction account had a temper tantrum. I am receiving notifications almost 48 hours after they were posted… Is anyone else having this problem?_

_Anyway, I hope this chapter was worth waiting for! Thanks for reading, and, as always, please take a second to let me know what you thought!_


	12. Chapter 12

_I have battled FanFiction Type 2 Errors, delayed e-mail alerts, an intermittent WiFi connection, and deadlines, deadlines, and more deadlines to bring you this chapter. I hope all the glitches in the site are worked out now because that was slightly (read that: very) ridiculous. If you're still having problems, shoot me a PM because I think I encountered and temporarily solved every issue there was… Thank you all for being patient: I hope you enjoy this chapter. _

_As always, thanks for reading and drop me a line at the end to let me know what you think!_

* * *

A painful throbbing brought Tony back to consciousness. Blood rushed though his temples and his head felt like it was being used as a drum for one of Abby's death metal bands. He wanted to reach out and hold his head until the pounding ceased, but his hands were bound tightly in front of him with a rough rope.

Eyes still closed, he took a quick bodily inventory and discerned that nothing was broken and, fortunately, his stitches were still in tact. He had accrued a few additional bruises which he had suspected were from being dragged none-too-gently into this room. His left ankle, though, was encased in a heavy metal object: _probably a shackle of some sort_, he thought as he continued to lie silently, feigning unconsciousness.

"I know you are awake, Mr. DiNozzo."

Tony forced his eyes open and immediately regretted it. Though there was no light in the room, the small movement of parting his eyelids increased the pounding in his head tenfold. He gently touched his temple, wincing as his fingers came away crusted in dried blood.

He glanced across the room to see Nathaniel Sheldon crouching against the far wall, tossing a bottle of water between his gloved hands. The windowless room was made of stone with an aged wooden door at the far end of the room.

DiNozzo shot a quick look at his ankle and discovered it was bound in an antique manacle whose end was welded to a stone wall plate. The chain was about two feet in length, not nearly long enough to rush Sheldon.

"If this is about keeping _Night of the Living Dead _for over a month, I could return it to Blockbuster before you open tomorrow…" he quipped as he raised himself into a sitting position.

Sheldon shook his head condescendingly. "I have heard stories about you, Anthony DiNozzo."

"All good I hope," Tony leaned casually against the back wall as if he was having a relaxing conversation with a friend, not bound hand and foot in a windowless cell facing off against his captor. "If there are a few from a Director Vance, you can ignore them—the man has it in for me." He flashed Sheldon his most winning smile.

"Silence," Sheldon said, pulling a .45 from the small of his back. "I am not here to listen to your troubles with your Director—"

"What then? You wanted some fashion advice?" Tony raised his eyebrows distastefully as he eyed the well-dressed man. "Armani jacket suit, three button. Classy, but I'm a fan of the two, myself. The Zegna shoes? Hard to come by and gives you an air of sophistication. But the socks from Sears: tactless. Screams cheap, careless, or just plain stupid."

Sheldon calmly clicked the safety off the weapon and pointed it at Tony's chest.

"Continue speaking and I will _stupidly _fire my weapon directly into your heart."

Tony closed his mouth but continued to glare sharply at his captor.

"This will be quick and painless…for me at least," Sheldon grinned. "Before the fun begins, I need you to know why you are here. You remember my brother Mark, do you not? He was only twenty when you arrested him for dealing drugs five years ago."

The case came filtering back to Tony one detail at a time. Petty Officer Jacob Mason had almost overdosed on a patch of improperly prepared marijuana, the dose being almost four times the normal limit. His friends, alarmed by the thought of his death, had quickly given up the dealer, Mark Sheldon, in exchange for small reprimand on their service records instead of a general discharge. He had been tried, convicted and sent to Leavenworth for at least ten years.

"Did you know Mark almost killed PFC Mason as well?"

Sheldon stepped forward, gun raised threateningly. "He did nothing of the sort."

Tony snorted in derision. "Sure he did. He sold tainted marijuana to the entire crew of the _USS Ronald Reagan _and was stupid enough to get caught on tape. You're lucky Mason survived otherwise your brother might have been in jail for—"

Sheldon stepped closer and viciously backhanded Tony, causing the agent to bite down on the inside of his cheek.

DiNozzo shook his head to clear the stars from his sight.

"Didn't see that coming," he muttered to himself, cursing his missed opportunity to attack Sheldon. It was as if he was standing in a fog: he had seen Sheldon coming but couldn't convince his body to react.

"Mark was set-up," Sheldon stated, his eyes flashing.

"The hell he was. There was not a single juror that wasn't ready to convict," Tony returned, intentionally baiting Sheldon for another chance to overpower him. It would be more difficult with his leg iron, considering he only had a radius of about two feet, but people tended to make stupid mistakes when the names of their loved ones were being threatened. "There's no way he's walking: not now, not in the next five years."

Sheldon's finger twitched, but he refrained from firing the weapon. He did, however, take one step closer to Tony, playing perfectly into the agent's hastily constructed plan.

"You do not know my brother the way I do. There was no way he would have dealt drugs," Iniguez' second-in-command spat.

"And Olivia Newton-John never had plastic surgery," Tony scoffed. "Let's face it: your idiot brother is a lost cause."

Sheldon purpled and stepped forward with the gun raised. Seeing that Sheldon was almost in his reach, Tony straightened up slightly, shifting his weight forward so he could quickly spring forward and grab the gun.

But, Sheldon must have seen DiNozzo's preparations for he paused without taking the final step.

"Very good, Agent DiNozzo," he congratulated. "Goading the opponent into making an error in judgment is a very solid plan, however, rarely successful. Where on earth did you learn that?"

"_How to Be a Successful Criminal in Four Easy Steps_," Tony deadpanned. "Borrowed it from the public library last month. You can read it when I'm done."

Sheldon had had enough with DiNozzo's disrespectful attitude: he had worked long and hard to get where he was today. Not everyone could be fortunate enough to have a wealthy family that could afford a military boarding school and was gifted enough to merit a full-ride athletic scholarship to Ohio State University—no, he and Mark had been born to a family who did not care about whether they came home at night or not. He had done a lot of things in his past that he was not proud of, but helping his brother out of a jam was most definitely not one of them.

Tony saw the pistol butt heading for his face and tried desperately to get out of the way but, despite his best efforts, his reaction time was still shot. The grip smashed into his cheekbone, sending him crashing into the wall. He collapsed to the floor, black spots closing in around the edges of his vision.

Through the haze, he felt the cold metal of the gun being shoved against his chest.

"I have had just about all I am going to take from you, Mr. DiNozzo." The weapon was driven harder into his chest, almost to the point of bruising his ribcage. "If my brother's life were not at stake, I would kill you here and now."

Tony sat silently, staring defiantly at Sheldon as his vision slowly began to return. But even though his face revealed no emotion, his heart was racing. He was far too young to die: far, far, far too young. His father had lived a care-free lifestyle that was anything but healthy and, yet, he had made it to the ripe old age of eighty-one without problems. Tony had hoped that he should be so lucky. There was so much he had not accomplished yet: getting married and settling down, having his own team, maybe teaching a son how to play basketball...

These thoughts faded as quickly as they had come. He had taken an oath to serve and protect and Mark Sheldon was guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt. DiNozzo would do whatever it took to ensure that he stayed behind bars, not selling lethal drugs to the entire US Navy.

Sheldon stared at Tony, surprised by the certainty with which the agent refused to beg for his life. He had encountered greater men, all of whom had broken down weeping for mercy in the end…but not DiNozzo. _Good_, he finally decided. It would make the next step of his plan that much more interesting.

Tony felt the gun pull away from his chest. He tried to force himself to his feet but there seemed to be a block between his brain and his muscles; he unhappily slouched against the wall while the droning in his head started faded.

Sheldon walked to the center of the room, pulled a Smith and Wesson from his waistband and tossed it at the agent so it landed within his reach. In a moment of adrenaline-induced clarity, Tony clumsily snatched the weapon off the ground, took aim at Sheldon and pulled the trigger.

He stared at the gun in shock as he heard a hollow click and no bullets were fired.

"It is not loaded you imbecile," Sheldon patronized. "Now, toss it back."

Tony hesitated, knowing he had just placed his prints on a weapon other than his own. He knew the reason any criminal would have someone else hold an empty gun was to convict him of murder. He had been publically accused of murder twice in the last four years and was fairly sure a third case would not end in his favor, especially if an Agent Slacks had anything to say about it.

His reverie was interrupted by a loud gun shot. The bullet whistled by DiNozzo's ear and embedded itself in the wall not two inches from his head.

"I told you to _Toss. It. Back._" Sheldon repeated slowly, waving the gun threateningly.

"Or what?" Tony growled. "You gonna shoot me Sheldon? That's a banner idea. That's a sure-fire way to get your brother out of jail. Oh, wait—you shoot me and you'll end up in jail with him. I'm almost positive Gibbs could arrange for the two of you to have neighboring cells if that's what you really want…"

"Ah, your infamous Agent Gibbs," his captor smirked, "If the man is as great an agent as you say, where is he?"

Tony recalled the fight he and Gibbs had had the night before, the words returning to him with the force of a strong punch to the stomach:

_'Like when you went to Mexico to avenge your family's death?'_

_'"You're. A. __Bastard."_  


_"I know." _

___"And how's that working out for you?" _  


_"Great…until some big city detective tried to follow in my footsteps."'_

He fought to keep his face impassive and shoved his feelings back into the locked box where they belonged. "He's coming, Sheldon. I'd bet my life on it."

"If you do not toss me the weapon promptly, it will not be your life you are betting." Sheldon pulled a small item from his pocket and fingered it for a long moment before chucking it at Tony. The agent saw a glint of gold and barely managed to catch the object between his stiff fingers.

His heart stopped beating as he turned the object around and saw the gold badge. He only needed to glance at the numbers to know who the owner was.

McGee.

"Give me the weapon," Sheldon reiterated, "or your partner dies."

_Damn, the Probie must have come over again after he had examined Keenan's body and had somehow gotten himself kidnapped as well._

"I need proof Special Agent McGee is still alive," Tony spoke up in a level tone that masked his concern.

Sheldon sighed deeply and pulled a cellular phone from his pocket. He dialed a number and waited silently for someone else to pick up.

"Put him on," he demanded.

He crouched next to DiNozzo, pressed the gun against his chest, and shoved the phone next to his ear.

Tony winced as he heard a fleshy collision followed by a loud groan and a few seconds of heavy breathing.

"_Whazza?" _McGee slurred, confusion evident in his voice.

Sheldon snapped the phone closed and stepped away, a gleeful expression on his face.

_Oh shit McGee_, DiNozzo thought, the S&W still sitting in his hands. Slurring words was a sign of a serious concussion. He knew McGee had already had a concussion from the Carson incident, albeit a minor one, but he also knew McIdiot had refused to stay overnight for observation. His condition must have seriously deteriorated since Tony had last seen him.

That was all the proof Tony needed to hear: he was perfectly fine with putting his own life in danger, but he would never, ever, endanger his partner's future.

He gently underhanded the weapon to the center of the room.

"One final thing." Sheldon reached for the far wall and picked up the bottle of water that had been sitting there. He tossed it to Tony, who barely managed to drop McGee's badge in time to catch it.

"Drink it."

Tony hesitated, looking warily at the bottle, knowing it was probably laced with a strong hallucinogenic.

Sheldon pulled out his cell phone and began to dial.

"No, no, no! Wait!" Tony popped open the water and downed the entire bottle, grimacing as the grimy liquid slid down his throat.

While he was drinking, Sheldon pulled a pen from his pocket and slid it through the trigger guard of the S&W, picking up the weapon without having left his fingerprints.

"There," Tony dropped the empty bottle on the ground. "Now let me see Special Agent McGee."

"In due time, in due time," Sheldon cackled. "It _is_ good that you are cooperating though. I would hate to end your partner's life prematurely," Sheldon added as he walked out of the room, slamming and locking the door behind him.

From the hallway, Sheldon could see into the room where Special Agent McGee was being held. The agent was bound to a chair and was being interrogated by Fries. The answer he had just given was apparently not the correct one, for Fries drove his fist into the computer geek's stomach leaving the man gasping and sputtering for air. Fries grabbed the agent's hair and pulled his head back, shoving a worn leather wallet into his face and shouting a question.

"What's the plan boss?" Sheldon turned around to see Talbot standing behind him, practically twitching with excitement.

Sheldon motioned to the S&W he was still holding. "Once the hyoscyamine is absorbed into DiNozzo's system, you are going to shoot McGee. The police—"

"Boss!" Fries dashed out of McGee's interrogation room and quietly spoke with Sheldon for a long moment.

"Hey!" Talbot interjected but the two ignored him.

"Is that so?" Sheldon rubbed his chin while he considered what Fries had just told him. "Put him in the same room as DiNozzo."

But his lackeys stood there, staring at him in silence. Sheldon sighed deeply and prayed to the gods to give him the courage to not kill the two men he had hired to help him pull off his plan.

"Now!"

* * *

Tony was fumbling with his belt buckle, trying to access his knife that was hidden within. He was unable to grasp the leather since his hands were shaking so badly he could hardly hold the leather for more than a few seconds at a time and he was beginning to see double.

The contents of the water bottle had definitely been a drug which had passed into his system rather quickly. He squinted hard at his belt, trying to sharpen his rapidly blurring vision before attempting to force the leather through the belt loop for the umpteenth time. Having finally gotten a decent grip on the belt, he pulled quickly with his hand before his fingers would release the leather. In his excitement, he had forgotten about the proximity of the wall and ended up smacking his elbow into the stone, his hand releasing the belt as pain radiated through his forearm.

He cursed silently, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his face. _Damn it was hot in here, _he thought, noting for the first time how the temperature had increased in the room_._ He took a deep breath, stretched his fingers and tried again to undo his belt.

He looked up as he heard the deadbolt creak.

"What do you want this time, Sheldon? My first born child?" he quipped, but his glib comment was lacking its usual intensity.

The door opened and a body was thrown into the room; it thudded painfully against the floor and rolled once before coming to a complete stop.

"McGee!" Tony shouted, but his partner did not respond.

He fumbled with his belt with more conviction this time, finally managing to get the leather through the metal loop. He pulled his knife free and carefully maneuvered it into his leg iron. After what seemed like hours, the antique lock clicked and the shackle fell open.

As he sprang to his feet, his vision started spinning faster than a turbine in a Kenmore washing machine. He blinked viciously and scrubbed his eyes with his hands before pushing away from the wall and stumbling toward his partner.

He knelt beside McGee and gently rolled the younger man onto his back, gasping in surprise as took in Tim's bloodied and bruised face.

"McGee!" Tony hissed, shaking the geek's shoulder with his bound hands. "Come on, Tim. Wake up!"

He breathed a sign of relief as McGee let out a groan.

"That's it, Probie," he coached encouragingly as his partner's eyes slid open.

Fear tore through DiNozzo as he saw McGee's pupils were uneven and he seemed to have a hard time recognizing where he was.

"Wh'r 'm I?" McGee rasped.

"I don't know." DiNozzo saw McGee's eyes roll slightly backwards. "You have to stay with me, Tim. You have a serious concussion so you have to stay awake. Trust me: I would know."

Tim struggled to lift his lids again, his eyes searching the room for something familiar that would tell him where he was. His gaze landed on the man in front of him, assessing in the tousled hair, the bleeding cheekbone and the knife held between his two bound, shaking hands.

His brown eyes locked onto the man's green ones and McGee dug deep within himself, summoning the strength to put together a coherent sentence.

"Wh…who 're you?" he asked the dark-haired man.


	13. Chapter 13

_Quick note: The last chapter should have ended with McGee's question to Tony: "who are you?" Anything after that was a cache error that was not present in the document in which I typed the chapter.___

_**A/N: **__Italics represent flashbacks._

* * *

Abby was pacing around her lab, her pigtails whipping back and forth as she turned with almost military precision and completed the loop. She had been waiting for Gibbs and Ziva to bring her the final piece of evidence from Tony's apartment for almost…she checked her watch…five minutes now. She had cleared a few select machines and lowered the volume of her music so she could work at her best when they finally arrived. The ability to speak without shouting when visiting would come as a shock for some people, but she could not condone jamming out to The Airborne Toxic Event while her friends were lying somewhere, unconscious, bloodied, bleeding, unable to escape…

No! She couldn't think like that. DiNozzo and Timmy were two of the strongest people that she knew. If Tony could manage to keep his mouth in check, the two of them could walk away from this without injury, she consoled herself. Positive thoughts! Positive thoughts!

Gratefully, she heard the elevator ding and looked up to see Gibbs and Ziva entering.

"Did you find them?" she asked hopefully, peeking around them in case DiNozzo and McGee were just lagging, but the expression on her Silver Fox's face told the whole story.

"Working on it, Abs." To quell further questions, Gibbs handed Abby a large evidence bag containing with a half-filled storage tank.

"What's this?" she asked, grabbing a pair of latex gloves from her table, to further examine the strange apparatus. The tank was connected to a medium-sized tube with a half-opened valve.

"Found it under DiNozzo's sink," Gibbs explained succinctly. "CSU said it's full of that hypo-stuff."

"_Hyoscyamine_," Abby corrected half-heartedly. She pulled the tank from the bag and pointed to the valve. "It looks like this tube was connected to the waterline. The valve's only about half-open but, even so, every time Tony went to get a drink, he was dosing himself again. I won't be sure of the concentration until I can run some more tests, but if I were to speculate, I would say he consumed a fair amount of it. Knowing how he reacts to painkillers, I'd say he would've been acting pretty hinky lately."

She looked to Gibbs for confirmation but the Lead Agent just shrugged. Despite her best efforts to keep her tears at bay, her eyes began welling up, a testament to the helplessness she was currently feeling. It as if Tony and McGee had disappeared without a trace, other than the injured FBI agents, both of which were expected to make full recoveries. Sack's partner, whose name she had already forgotten, had sustained only a minor concussion and was already back at work, having been assigned a task force of his own in the FBI to work on the shooting of Sacks. She had received word from Vance to share all information with Sack's partner's team in hopes that between the two agencies, one of them could locate Sheldon and his crew.

"There were no fingerprints," Ziva gently cut-in, seeing the scientist struggling to remain in control, "but we were hoping you might be able to find something we can use to pinprick their location."

"I believe the word you are searching for is _pinpoint_, ma'am," a deep voice came from the doorway.

Ziva turned slightly to see a scrawny, curly-haired man standing in the doorway. He was leaning casually against the doorway, his stance highlighting the NCIS badge on his hip.

"And you are?" Abby asked, placing a hand of Ziva's shoulder before the Israeli could reprimand the agent for referring to her as _ma'am_.

"Kevin Bacon." The man stepped forward and offered his hand to the group. No one returned the gesture.

He cleared his throat and dropped his hand back to his side. "I've been assigned as Agent Gibbs' TAD while DiNozzo and McGee are…" he hesitated as Abby staring at him challengingly, almost begging him to pick the wrong word to describe her friend's current situations so she could unleash the agitated Israeli on him "…unaccounted for."

"You are so lucky Tony is not here," the scientist shook her finger at the man, knowing the new agent would not receive a moment of peace around her fellow movie buff. She quite literally turned her back on Bacon and faced Gibbs. "My babies haven't spoken in, like, hours so they should have something pretty soon. I'll call you the second I have something."

She pulled a cotton swab from a tall cylinder signaling the end of the conversation.

* * *

Gibbs and Ziva stood in the elevator, watching as the doors closed. When they were less than a foot apart, Kevin Bacon slipped between them, nodding politely to its current passengers.

There was an awkward silence as the elevator departed.

"What would you like me to do, sir?" he asked after a long moment.

Normally Gibbs would rather burn his newest boat than to let a new member onto his team, especially one assigned by Vance, but right now, with both Tony and McGee missing, he did not really have another option.

"BOLO for Nathaniel Sheldon, David Talbot and Sam Fries," the Lead Agent barked. "Update it every ten minutes. Run their financials, phone records and credit card receipts: anything stands out, you find me."

"Yes, sir," Bacon looked as if he were about to salute the Lead Agent but refrained when Gibbs shot him a piercing glare. "Where should I—"

"Empty desk next to McGee's," Ziva responded, exiting the elevator without glancing back at the newbie.

"Thank you, ma'am."

She stopped, spun around to face the newest agent. "Do not call me ma'am if you want to walk without a limp tomorrow."

Bacon's eyes widened. "Yes, Agent David." He scurried to the empty desk, almost tripping over his own two feet in the process. He shot Ziva a lopsided smile that was mildly reminiscent of the ones Tony flashed on almost a daily basis before picking up the phone and phoning in the BOLO.

* * *

McGee focused on the dark-haired man's face, watching as a multitude of emotions, including surprise, anger and even sadness, fought for control.

Should he know this man? The stranger looked deeply hurt that McGee hadn't recognized him. Maybe they had been childhood friends or something of the like which would explain why McGee was having such problems putting a face to a name.

This brought to mind another question, this one equally as important: What was everyone's interest in the identity of this stranger in front of him? The stocky, blond man who had bound him to a chair had wanted to know as well whether McGee recognized the picture in the wallet that was being shoved into his face, but McGee couldn't identify the stranger then nor was he able to currently.

He looked up as the dark-haired man cleared his throat. "You don't…" the man paused as his voice came out slightly squeaky, "…remember who I am?"

McGee's eyes scrutinized the stranger again. "No," he said hesitantly after a moment. "But I should, shouldn't I?" he added, seeing the man's face fall slightly.

"I'm Tony," the man replied, his eyes locked on McGee's own. The intensity of the man's stare was making McGee uncomfortable and he wanted nothing more than to look away, but felt compelled to return the stare.

"DiNozzo? Your partner? We work at NCIS together? Leroy Jethro Gibbs, coffee aficionado and resident carpenter is our boss. Grey-haired Marine, former sniper. The beautiful and extremely deadly Ziva David has the desk across from mine: used to wear cargo pants and headbands all the time, uses my likeness for target practice."

This man seemed genuinely interested in whether he remembered this strange place called NCIS but try as he may, he could not remember a Gibbs or a Ziva or even a DiNozzo. His mind was like a blank slate: there appeared to be no information about these people written on it from which to read.

"We work in a building painted a few years back by a colorblind monkey…Any of this ringing a bell?" Tony asked hopefully after a long pause.

"N—" Pain exploded through McGee's skull truncating the rest of his sentence. He groaned deeply and rolled onto his side, cradling his head in his hands. With the pain came a few scattered images:

_A god-awful orange room with a large aisle in the center surrounded by four desks._

_A theater-like room filled with walls of computers and a floor-to-ceiling projector. It had some funny name…a bunch of letters…_

_A sterile chamber with a naked body lying on the center slab. A morgue, perhaps? That would make sense if he was a federal agent: he would be expected to deal with bodies on occasion, right?_

"McGee! Tim!" Tony shouted, collapsing to his knees beside his partner. He could barely keep his own hands from shaking as he grabbed Tim's shoulder, trying to offer some comfort to the suffering man. McGee didn't respond to his touch and continued to groan, pressing his hands so tightly against his head that his fingertips were turning white.

Tony forced himself to his feet, catching himself as he lilted to one side, and stumbled to the wooden door.

"Hey!" he barked at the top of his lungs. "I don't care what the hell you do to me, but my partner needs medical attention. Drop him off at a hospital and I'll do…whatever…drink whatever…just get your collective asses in here pronto!"

Tony prayed that the door would creak open and Sheldon would stroll in, ready to wheel McGee off to the nearest hospital, but the room remained silent; the only sound heard was McGee's gasping breaths.

"Sheldon!" Tony pounded on the door, barely managing to stay upright as the recoiling force of the door sent him staggering. "I know you're out there, you—" Tony continued his description of Sheldon with a few choice words that would have made a sailor blush.

McGee let out a choking noise and Tony whirled around, almost falling yet again as the cell spun wildly around him. He lurched back to the center of the room where McGee was curled into the fetal position and knelt beside him.

"Where's it hurt worst?" Tony asked, seeing his partner writhe on the ground, not knowing what to do to ease the younger man's pain.

"Head…" came the quiet response.

Tony was more than knowledgeable about the symptoms of a concussion but, other than an immediate trip to the hospital for brain scans and anti-inflammatory meds, he wasn't sure what he could do in this room. He noticed McGee's still labored breathing and deciding that getting his partner to relax was probably a good start.

"Hey McGee! You've gotta calm down," Tony instructed his partner, hoping the words would bring the injured man some sort of relief. "I know it hurts, but you've gotta just breathe."

_Just breathe? _The words struck a chord in McGee's brain. They sounded so familiar, where hadhe heard them before? Then he knew:

_White-hot pain flashed through his skull and McGee found himself twitching uncontrollably, unable to control his own limbs. He was lying outside a Tudor-style home on a fresh-layer of snow wearing a trench coat. His heart was…stinging? There was something connected to his chest, digging deep into his skin. He was being shocked…no…Tasered!_

"_Just breathe through it," he heard and turned his head slightly to see the dark-haired man…Tony?...standing over him, though not offering any assistance or removing the electrodes from his chest._

"Tasered…" McGee whispered, his voice barely audible. A sharp pain lanced through his skull again and he squeezed his eyes shut to ward away the pain.

"Yeah, you were Tasered last year," Tony cocked his head at his friend's revelation. Not that he was complaining that his partner was beginning to recall at least some details of his past, but being Tasered was not one of the first things he hoped McGee would remember.

He saw the computer geek wince again and wanted more than anything to take away his partner's pain. He hated seeing the people he loved suffer which was why he tended to go to such great lengths to draw any attacker's attention away from his partners: he knew he would never forgive himself if one of his partners—his friends—died a preventable death.

They needed a plan, the first step of which should probably be getting his hands free. DiNozzo lowered himself into a sitting position, staring at his blurry sneakers in front of him. With his hands bound together, the only way to use the knife would be to place it between his feet and hope he could slice the rope, not his wrists. He shook his head once in hopes that it would clear some of the cobwebs and maneuvered the knife between two of his feet. He sighed in relief as the knife stayed upright between the two sneakers.

Now for the more difficult part: actually cutting the rope. Aiming in relatively the same direction as the knife, he gently lowered his hands over the metal. He winced as he felt the knife poke into his forearms. Not wanting to lose the ground he had just gained, he gently slid his forearm along the blade, leaving a shallow scratch in his flesh, until he felt the knife below his wrists. He rotated his arms slightly, all the while still touching the blade, and began sawing at his bindings.

A few long minutes and a hard yank later, the rope snapped. He shook out his hands, feeling the blood flow return to his deprived appendages.

He carefully grabbed the hilt of the knife and slipped it into his sock where it was not visible but easily accessible. He turned back to his partner and saw McGee had uncurled himself and was watching Tony struggle with his ropes. The complete anguish gone from his face, but small tightening of his mouth and eyes were still present, revealing he was still in pain.

"You still with me, Probie?" he asked, sliding forward until his partner became one solitary image.

"You're bleeding," the younger man stated, trying to sit up to offer his assistance. Tony quickly reached over and gently pushed his partner back to the ground, effectively keeping him from injuring himself further.

But McGee would not be deterred so easily. Lying flat on the floor made his headache much worse, so he propped himself up on his elbows, gleefully noting the throbbing reduce fractionally.

"It's just a flesh wound," the man called Tony replied.

"You'd better put pressure on that," McGee advised, not knowing where that tidbit of information came from. He had apparently received some sort of basic first-aid training which corroborated the story that he was truly a fed, though there were a lot of other explanations that explained knowing first aid, most of which were much less exciting.

"I'll live Probie," Tony deflected. He saw McGee shiver slightly and shrugged off his jacket, offering it to the computer specialist.

McGee eyed the jacket distrustfully. Why was the man offering him his jacket? It wasn't cold in here…at least, he didn't think so. "I don't—"

"You have a serious concussion. We have to keep you from getting a cold as well," Tony informed his partner, shaking the jacket once in his direction.

McGee looked at the man's bleeding cheekbone and gaunt features. He was fairly sure he didn't look much better but the man clearly needed the jacket as much as he did. "You don't look so hot yourself. There is no way I am taking this from you."

"Look McGee—"

"No, you look," McGee interrupted, fixing DiNozzo with what he hoped was an authoritative glare. "From what you've said about our boss, he sounds like a pretty hard-ass. What is he going to say when he finds out that you weren't paying attention to your own health?"

Tony frowned but sensed that McGee was not in the mood to be trifled with. "Fine," he unhappily slipped the jacket back on. "For not remembering much, you certainly seemed to nail our boss," he muttered under his breath.

"How are we going to get out of here?" McGee questioned after a long moment.

"Workin' on it," Tony replied as he once again took stock of the room. Besides the two of them, a small knife and an empty water bottle, there was nothing else that could be used as a weapon.

McGee turned his gaze away and searched his jumbled brain for an idea. He scrubbed his forehead as the mere act of thinking aggravated his headache. _All right, maybe he shouldn't think so hard and just let the idea come to him. After all, he was…_

McGee's thoughts jerked to a stop as his name didn't follow as he was expecting it to.

_Oh my God! He couldn't remember his name! _McGee bolted upright and forced himself to concentrate: he thought hard, ignoring the pain in his brain, searching every recess for his identity.

Tony glanced over at McGee's strangled cry and saw the angst written on his face.

"What's wrong?" he demanded in a strictly no-nonsense tone.

"Can't remember…my name!" McGee cried, burying his head deeper into his hands. The more he willed himself to remember, the faster his heart beat in his chest and the more ragged his breathing became. Quickly, he discovered that he was barely able to draw oxygen into his lungs. Black spot were clouding the edges of his vision as he gasped for air, his thoughts about what he would do without his memory raced as fast as his heart rate.

Tony stared at his partner in shock, again not sure how to react. He had a hard enough time dealing with people on an everyday basis, let alone a partner who was literally falling to pieces directly in front of him. His general response would be to defer to Abby for the mothering, Gibbs or Ziva for the torturing of the bad guys, and a smart ass comment from him to distract the mildly injured…

_Get it together! Your partner needs you! _he told himself, following the words with a mental Gibbs-slap which was the kick he needed to get started. He moved next to his partner who was rocking back and forth in deep concentration.

"You're going to be okay, Tim," he offered hesitantly, wincing as the stupidly phrased, and horribly cliché words left his mouth. Yet, he knew it was what his partner wanted to hear, if McGee was even listening.

Though McGee wanted nothing more than to hear those words, preferable followed by a finite certainty that he would recall his identity, Tony's words were lost as he tuned out his surroundings and focused on remembering.

Random thoughts were flying through his head, some attached to pictures, others with audio snippets: a gruff male's voice, a bubbly timbre filled with lots of long words, a cultured English accent and a strong desire to cover his ears, some memories of a shouting match with a younger brunette wrapped in only a towel: who was she? Girlfriend, cousin, wife? Sister?

Through the confusion, he felt a warm, albeit quivering hand on his back. The hand remained still for a long moment before beginning to rub small rhythmic circles.

"You're going to be okay, McGee," he finally heard, though there was great distortion in the stranger's voice. "You're having a panic attack. You need to calm down. Just take a deep breath. Inhale…exhale…"

Tony didn't know where he found the inner strength to be calm since he was freaking out just as much, if not more, than McGee. He had never felt so powerless in his entire life than he did at that moment, watching his partner experience a full-on panic attack.

Now more than ever, his partner needed a hospital.

They needed to get out of here.

Tony shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and slung it over his partner, this time without objection. One hand remained on his partner's back at all times, rubbing it gently as he had seen Gibbs comforted Abby many a time.

"Breathe, McGee. You're going to be fine," Tony continued, holding his partner close to him while he continued the circles. "Your name is Special Agent Timothy McGee. You were a boy scout as a kid, though I'll never understand why a boy scout can't recognize poison ivy: did you never learn the 'leaves of three let it be'? You went to MIT, majored in computer forensics, and graduated with a 3.8 GPA—apparently you failed a fencing class your sophomore year…I hope there were some smokin' hot girls in that class, God know why else you'd sign up for it. Then, you went to Johns Hopkins for grad school and got a degree in biomedical engineering. You were working in a cubicle at NCIS Norfolk with the Cyber Crimes unit until Gibbs decided that a three-man team just wasn't cutting it. You play online computer games under the codename Elflord. You wrote a novel under the penname Thom E. Gemcity called _Deep Six_ which made you pretty rich since you went out and bought a Porsche."

With each statement, McGee's breathing eased slightly and oxygen began flowing more easily into his lungs.

"That's it," Tony saw McGee visibly relax and arranged himself so he was leaning against the wall with his partner pressed against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around his heaving partner. "You tell anyone about this and I'll tell the world about your Sonny and Cher collection, comprende?"

"I have a Sonny and Cher collection?" McGee asked in a small voice.

"Yup, though God only knows why. It's in your LP collection beneath your _How to Be an Alpha Male_ CDs."

McGee was about to ask a follow-up question but refrained as he heard a lock creaking. A light-haired man walked into the room flanked by two armed guards and it was clear even to someone with a head injury who was in charge.

"Aww, now isn't that sweet," the light-haired man commented, seeing McGee lying against DiNozzo, the younger man's breaths still coming in hitched gasps.

"He needs a doctor," Tony stated bluntly, shifting slightly so as to place himself in front of his partner. "But I'm sure you knew that."

"Tsk, tsk, Anthony. Your loud voice is upsetting him," Sheldon motioned to McGee who was tensed against the loud pitch of the conversation.

"Your presence is upsetting him," Tony retorted in a lower voice. He gently lifted himself out from behind McGee, ignoring the man's question about who Sheldon was.

"Look Sheldon, I don't know what you have planned but it doesn't involve my partner. _I_ was the Lead Agent on your brother's case, not him: my testimony's worth more to you that Special Agent McGee's. Tell you what, you let McGee go and…" Tony hesitated for a split second before playing his trump card, "…I'll retract my deposition."

Sheldon's eyes widened. "Really?" he asked in surprise.

"You take Special Agent McGee to a hospital right now and I will see what I can do," Tony promised, grimacing at the thought of Mark roaming the streets dealing drugs. But McGee was his partner and it was one of Tony's personal rules that the health of his partner superseded all else. He had no doubt that NCIS could catch Sheldon again, assuming he was able to retract his deposition. His career might take a slight hit, but he was moving out from D.C. anyway. He'd find some unknown town, get hired by the local police, and create a new name for himself.

"The level of dedication you are showing to your partner is fantastic," Sheldon lauded. "It'll be that much more sweet when it comes crashing to a halt."

"McGee!" he barked loudly, making the injured man wince.

"Why you…" Tony began, taking a step toward Sheldon. He heard the click of a gun and felt the cold metal of a barrel being driven into his lower back.

"Give me the opportunity," Fries grinned, seeing Tony tensing for action.

Unable to help being held at gunpoint, Tony stood helplessly while Sheldon walked over to McGee and roughly pulled him to his feet.

Sheldon practically dragged McGee over toward where Tony and Fries were standing. He grabbed the younger man's hair, pulling his head back, until the two NCIS agents were looking eye-to-eye.

"What do you really know about this man?" Sheldon whispered in McGee's ear. "He has told you he is your partner, no? That you two work together at NCIS?"

"Don't listen to him McG—" Tony's interrupted was silenced as Fries drove the gun into one of his kidneys. He collapsed to his knees, sputtering for air as pain raced through his torso.

"Ignore him." Sheldon spun McGee around so the agent could no longer see his partner. "What do you _really_ know about Anthony DiNozzo?"

'_Just breathe through it.'_

McGee gasped in pain as his brain was assaulted with images yet again, each segment bringing with it a stabbing pain. Sheldon released him and McGee fell to his knees as well, hands pressed tightly against the side of his head.

"This is my cue to leave," Sheldon quipped. As quickly as he had appeared, he and his two goons left, leaving Tony and McGee alone again.

"McGee!" Tony hollered as he dragged himself alongside the shaking man. He tried to illicit a reaction from the man, but Tim was lost in a world of his own:

_He walked out of an elevator and into the orange room to see the dark-haired man rifling through a desk that was not his own. McGee knew it wasn't his desk since his desk since a small purse was sitting next to the chair: a woman's desk. From the locked drawers and immaculate desktop, it was clear the woman did not want anyone to know on what she was working. _

_Suddenly, he was entering the squad room from the other side, closest to the plasma. He rounded the corner to see Tony browsing through an iPod which had been charging on his desk. Clearly, the iPod wasn't his since the name Timothy McGee was engraved on the back. McGee…that was him, right?_

_Now, he was in a room filled with machines next to a table covered in an assortment of chemicals. He heard the squeal of metal and saw Tony trying to break into a locked filing cabinet with a crowbar. Did this man have no respect for what people wanted to be kept private? Come to think of it, this man was always asking questions about his team's personal lives: whom they were dating, what plans they had for the weekend, and the like…_

_The room spun and he was no longer in the obnoxiously colored room. He was at an abandoned home that was adorned in yellow crime scene tape. He heard a phone ringing and saw Tony put down his Nikon camera to pull his NCIS regulation cell phone from his belt. He stared in confusion at the phone as the ringing continued, and after a few seconds, reached into his pocket and withdrew a second cell phone. McGee instinctively knew he had never received the number for that second cell phone: whom was Tony communicating with in private? It was curious that a man with no respect for the personal boundaries of others would have such a division between his own personal and business lives._

_Then, he remembered sitting next to a dark-haired woman with a pigtails, platform boots and a spiderweb tattoo…Abby, he thought her name was…And there was something about bowling regularly…with nuns?…They were examining an arrest record with this man's picture on it. But the name wasn't Anthony DiNozzo like the man had said, it was…Gus Bricker? Low grade arms-dealer?_

_Arms dealer: _ the name La Grenouille floated into McGee's consciousness.

_A Frenchmen with a deep accent… La Grenouille was in league with a bald-guy who gave McGee the chills. McGee remembered he and a grey-haired man had tried to capture The Frog in an airplane hanger of sorts. Had they been successful? He wasn't even sure, not that it mattered much currently. _

_That grey-haired man. Was that this Gibbs character? He had saved McGee's life: he had pushed him out of the way of an oncoming car, injuring his own shoulder in the process. He had always felt safe around the grey-haired man. Without a doubt, McGee knew he was to be trusted: the man in front of him, not so much._

_And the suits. In every flash, the man—Tony—was always well-dressed in expensive suits or sports coats. There was no way he could afford those on a cop's salary. Oh yeah, this guy was dirty. He had only been pretending to be a friend to win's McGee's confidence. But why? What advantage would that bring him?_

The complete certainty in the dark-haired man in front of him was wavering. The man was speaking, gesticulating wildly, trying to convey a point, but the words were lost in the thudding on his blood in his ears.

That facial expression: _McGee had seen it before…on a mug shot? This man had been detained for…severing the legs of a young woman. He had been acquitted, but the legal system wasn't perfect: criminals walked all the time. McGee even remembered meeting the man in his holding cell, but yet didn't feel threatened…_

'_Don't believe what you're told. Always double check,' the grey-haired man told him once at…a crime scene?_

_That was good advice,_ McGee thought. He had trusted the man in front of him implicitly without asking who he really was. If he wanted to come out of this situation alive, that needed to change.

_McGee remembered being dressed in a hotel waiter's uniform and pushing a room service cart down the hallway. He knocked on an ornate wooden door, seeing Tony, or whatever his real name was, answer wearing only a white cotton bathrobe._

_He recalled standing in the squad room, watching this Tony-fellow and a pretty foreign woman talking via security camera. He walked over to his computer and stared at a foreign ID with the dark-haired man's picture on it. Jean-Paul Reiner…professional…hit man!_

He was in a cell with a professional murderer, who was armed with a knife no less.

As if his day couldn't get any worse.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Disclaimer:**__ I am not a doctor or an expert on amnesia._

_Shoutout to charluck nerdherder—you're awesome._

* * *

"What's wrong, McGee?" the dark-haired man's voice filtered through McGee's consciousness.

The man in front of him looked so worried, it would be easy to believe he actually cared, but McGee knew better: he knew he was just being played. He fleetingly wondered why he hadn't put this all together sooner before realizing he had never had reason to doubt this man's identity. This stranger had been fooling them all for a long time, pretending to be someone he was not, pretending to be someone who could be trusted, pretending to be someone who invested in how you were feeling, but no, the whole time he had been acting with an ulterior motive. Right now, what that motive was, or who the man really was, was not important; Bricker, Ranier, Hawke, DiNozzo, they were all the same person.

His main concern was getting out of reach of the knife he knew the man was carrying.

Tim felt a rough hand on his shoulder and pulled violently out away from the touch.

"Stay away from me, you…you…whoever you are," McGee snarled, backing up until his back was flat against the far wall.

"What do you mean 'whoever I am'?" Tony asked in surprise. "I'm Tony DiNozzo—we work together at NCIS."

"That's what you told me…but I've seen…seen different…Gus Bricker…Jean Paul Reiner…Stringfellow Hawke…" McGee abruptly stopped speaking and doubled in half as he was struck by another wave of pain.

The words rendered Tony momentarily speechless. His partner thought he was a coldblooded killer, akin to the scum that they arrested on a daily basis…that was _so _not good.

Tony instinctively stepped forward as his partner crumpled in pain.

McGee, however, saw the motion out of the corner of his eye and countered Tony's movement by shifting in the opposite direction.

"Stay…" McGee stumbled backwards and leaned against the wall with one hand to stay upright, one palm pressed tightly against his eye. "…stay away from me."

Tony was hurt by McGee's statement, but decided it would be best not to argue. He took a step back, faltering slightly as his legs suddenly turned adopted the consistency of Jello, and raised his hands. "Okay, McGee, have it your way."

Tim breathed a small sign of relief. The dark-haired man was being reasonable: that was good because the younger man wasn't really sure he was prepared for a hand-to-hand battle. He remained huddled against the wall, even though the shooting pains were lessening by the minute, trying to make himself as unassuming as possible until he managed to think a coherent thought.

The knife! How had he forgotten about the weapon so quickly? He quickly dismissed that notion in favor of a more productive one: the why's weren't important at the moment; what McGee needed now was a plan, one that involved getting the knife away from…well, he insisted his name was Tony, so for the time being, Tony it was…before _Tony_ filleted him like a fish.

Without a second thought, McGee calculated the distance quickly between the two of them and knew he'd be able to reach the other end of the small room in a single bound. His ability to run those numbers so quickly surprised him and, at the same time, gave credence to the man's story. So one thing he said had been true, he reminded himself, doesn't make up for the lifetime of lies he had been telling.

In order to ensure his survival, he needed to get the knife away from Tony as soon as possible. McGee stayed hunched over, wanting to seem innocuous until he was able to attack.

He let out a slightly exaggerated groan and buried his head into his elbow.

He heard Tony clear his throat and cautiously ask, "You okay McGee?"

_Just peachy. I love to spend my evenings locked in small rooms with armed killers__, _McGee thought but remained silent, keeping up the injured charade.

He heard a small scraping noise and knew Tony had taken a step toward him, despite his earlier wishes.

"McGee?" he asked, slightly louder. Still the computer genius did not answer, waiting for the moment of maximum opportunity.

Another moan tore through him, this one completely legitimate, as another memory lanced into his brain.

_He was standing outside a glass room staring in at its__ two occupants: one was this Tony-character who was close to disappearing into the variety of equipment that beeped nonsensically around him and the tubes sprouting from every possible inch of visible skin; the second was a brown-haired woman, conservatively dressed with a small cross hanging around her neck, keeping vigil beside his bed, her hands clasped around one of his, holding it tightly against her forehead. The man's nose and fingertips were tinged an unusual shade of blue and McGee could hear his labored, gasping breathes through the thick glass._

_He felt…scared…powerle__ss…uncertain…but these were not the cold, calculated feelings he displayed when dealing with a suspect, these were genuine emotions usually directed toward someone you cared deeply about…_

_He was playing you!_ his subconscious mind reminded him. _And you fell for it: hook, line and sinker._

The memory gave McGee pause before he shoved it away and forced a deep look of pain onto his face, which wasn't difficult considering how hard his head was pounding.

He heard Tony take another step forward and knew this was as close to a perfect situation as he was ever going to get.

He waited one second longer to ensure Tony had not backed away and pounced.

* * *

"McGee," Tony asked again, raising his voice slightly, in an attempt to be heard over the demons that were assaulting his partner.

He was definitely not expecting his partner to come shooting toward him like a bat out of hell. He tried to move to one side, but was not fast enough to counter McGee's surprise attack.

The younger man crashed into him with all the force of a professional linebacker, sending them both flying into the far wall. They slid to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, McGee flailing so wildly that Tony was unable to push the Probie away.

"What the hell, McGee?" he managed before the geek's hand tightened around Tony's throat, stealing his breath away. DiNozzo saw momentary surprise pass over his partner's face at his unexplained fighting abilities before anger and self-determination contorted his normally kind expression.

"I will not be your next victim!" the younger man snarled, increasing the pressure on Tony's throat. He arranged himself so his knees were driving into Tony's quads, keeping the older man from kicking him, before he began blindly groping for the knife on Tony's ankle.

Spots clouded the edges of his vision and Tony knew he had to get McGee off of him without causing any serious damage to the already seriously injured man.

His partner's face was wrought with concentration as he reached for Tony's ankle. Fortunately, there was no way McGee could reach the knife in his current position and he was forced to shift slightly to bring his ankle within reach.

Tony felt the pressure decrease and smacked the sides of his partner's head, directly over the ears, with his open hands. The blow stung like hell but he knew from his many boxing or fighting sessions with Gibbs and Ziva respectively that it would cause little permanent damage.

McGee howled in pain, releasing Tony's throat to cover his ringing ears. DiNozzo slammed his fist into McGee's ribcage, sending the computer geek tumbling off of him. As he hit the floor, he reflexively curled into a ball to protect his bruised side from further assault.

Tony rolled in the other direction, coughing and gagging. He pulled himself to his hands and knees, sputtering for breath, watching his partner out of the corner of his eye. Tim remained inert up for a few seconds longer before unsteadily drawing himself to his knees as well.

"You don't…want to do this," Tony rasped. "I'm not who you think."

"That's the problem," McGee returned, straightening up to his full height. "I don't know what to think."

He flung his open fist in Tony's direction. The Senior Field Agent saw the dirt heading towards him and barely had time to turn his head away. While his move kept a majority of the grime out of his eyes, he had taken his eyes off McGee and, in the process, had left himself completely unprotected.

McGee was on his feet in an instant, closing the distance between the two of them in a fraction of that time. He buried his boot deep into Tony's ribcage, sending the man sprawling to the floor.

He reared back for another kick, but DiNozzo's hand snaked out and grabbed the ankle his partner was using for support and yanked with all his might.

McGee crashed to the ground directly beside Tony whose long fingers quickly reached for the pressure points on McGee's neck. Before his fingers could gain purchase on his partner's neck, the younger man recovered faster than Tony had thought possible and viciously knocked his hand away.

Both men scrambled to their feet and assumed fighting stances.

"I don't want to hurt you McGee," Tony began, stepping to the right as McGee made a quick jab to the left. He knew he was the stronger fighter and would win any hand-to-hand combat, but that wasn't the objective: he had to beat McGee without causing further harm to either of them.

McGee snorted. "Yeah right."

"C'mon Probie," Tony pleaded, a note of desperation in his voice. "You have to remember our movie nights: our James Bond marathon—and I do mean _marathon_. We watched all twenty-one films in the course of four days, then went and saw the _Quantum of Solace _on opening night? You painted yourself with gold paint like Goldfinger and I was Blofeld with the monocle and the Nehru jacket? I even borrowed my landlady's white cat for the first few minutes until it decided to use your pant leg as a scratching post?

"And how could you forget our pizza nights? Or the time Vance threatened to fire me until I learned how to use the new interface and you stayed all night until I could at least manage to send an interoffice memo? You did that for me, Tim. This, this isn't you."

McGee shook his head wildly as if fighting off any more memories.

"Stop playing your mind games!" he shouted, feinting to the right again, sending the two of them into motion like planets in orbit.

"I know that information's somewhere in that superbrain of yours, McGeek!" Tony insisted, watching as McGee's reaction slowed slightly. He was fading fast, not surprising considering the extent of his injuries—it was actually pretty amazing the Probie had lasted as long as he did.

"I said…shut up!" the younger man hollered, faking one final blow to the right, but he extended slightly farther than his scrambled brain would allow. He was sent stumbling forward, his arm waving wildly as he tried to catch his balance.

Tony grabbed the flailing wrist and spun around, loosely twisting McGee's arm behind his back.

"Please stop, McGee. I don't want to hurt you," Tony begged, wrenching the arm slightly higher. He knew he sounded childish, but at this point, he'd get down on bended knee and swear that Robert Pattison was worthy of an Oscar for his role in _Twilight _if that was what it took to stop his partner's onslaught.

McGee didn't verbally respond. Instead, he took another step forward to regain his balance, simultaneously driving his left elbow into DiNozzo with all the strength he could muster.

White hot pain erupted in Tony's side as McGee's bony elbow connected with his healing bullet wound. A rather impressive color wheel danced in front of his vision and for a long moment he knew nothing but agony.

He felt McGee shift slightly under his grip and knew he had to end this now before one of them physically and permanently hurt the other.

Time lost all meaning as he tightened his grip on McGee's wrist with one hand and hooked his elbow around McGee's throat; all sound was blocked by the thudding in his ears and all pain was dulled by the hot poker burning in his side.

He tightened his hold slightly, releasing McGee's arm so he had a better grip on his shaking arm that was pressing on McGee's trachea. Putting someone in a headlock was always a tricky business since maintaining the hold for longer than ten seconds ensured the person entered unconsciousness and never woke up.

_1… _Too much pressure would permanently damage the windpipe and inhibit his partner's speech and breathing for the rest of his life. He'd learned that in one of Ducky's many monologues about the cruelty of human beings...

_2… _It was _always_ his last resort since he never wanted to do more damage than absolutely necessary, especially when his assailants always managed to conjure up a Gloria Allred impersonator in such cases of "police brutality".

_3… _Today though, with his arms shaking madly, his thoughts being muddled by an unknown drug and his partner's life on the line, was the last day he ever wanted to implement such a dangerous maneuver.

_4… _McGee bucked suddenly, slamming them both into the nearest wall.

His already battered body screamed in protest and his natural response would be to release his partner, but Tony fought through the pain, not listening to McGee's grunts of protest. He had spent too much time as an athlete to know never to give up, especially when a situation seemed unwinnable: with McGee's thinking more scrambled that the electrical cords connecting his plasma TV to his surround sound system, it was up to him to protect his partner, whether the man wanted his help or not.

Damn, how much time had passed? He'd lost count after being thrown into the wall…. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

"Stop fighting!" he shouted to McGee, who refused to listen to reason and continued to thrash around wildly.

"N'…w'y," McGee gargled, his fingers clawing at Tony's face and arms.

"Sorry, Probie," Tony whispered, knowing what he had to do and regretting it all the same.

Still pressed against the wall, Tony leveraged himself with his upper back and stomped on the back of McGee's knee, though not hard enough to do any serious damage.

The Probie's knees buckled, and he momentarily stopped struggling against Tony's hold as he fought to keep himself upright.

"That's it," Tony coached, tightening his grip slightly as he felt McGee relax. It couldn't be much longer now…it had to be around ten seconds…but it wasn't like he could release his partner and pull out a pocket watch to check…

Oh shit, he was going to have to stop soon, rather than risk permanent damage to his partner. _C'mon McGee, just give in,_ he pleaded silently.

That was it—too much time had passed—he had to let go… he unclasped his support arm, ready to completely release his partner. Blessedly though, at that very second, McGee's hands fell limply away and his head lolled to one side.

Tony pulled his forearm away from his partner's throat with lightning speed, managing to catch the unconscious man as he fell. He gently laid his partner on the floor, his hands immediately going for McGee's carotid artery.

His partner was still breathing, not very deeply, but enough to keep him alive and his pulse was steady but faint. DiNozzo picked up his jacket, which McGee had thrown off in the scuffle and gently laid it over his partner, trying to make the injured man as comfortable as possible.

_What was he going to do? McGee was __hardly breathing, his chest was barely moving up and down, oh god, he looked so pale…he needed a plan. Rushing the guard, assuming he could make his way out of the cell, was probably not a good idea. _That left him with just one option: having the guard come to him.

"Oh my God, oh my God," he cried loudly for the effect of anyone who may be listening, trying to make himself sound as desperate as possible, which actually wasn't that hard considering his partner who had severe amnesia was lying on the ground after just trying to kill him. "I…C'mon McGee!...Breathe!...Holy shit!...I think…I just killed my partner!"

As he was speaking, he staggered drunkenly over the door and began pounding on it. When he heard footsteps approaching, he pressed himself against the wall, his knife clutched tightly in his trembling hand, ready to ambush anyone who walked through the door.

Seconds passed—freakin' long seconds—which turned into freakin' long minutes. Tony waited patiently by the door waiting for someone to come check on them, all the while staring at McGee, watching his chest for signs of life; without fail, the Probie's chest rose and fell softly, punctuated occasionally by a small cough.

After an eternity, he heard the door creak open.

He saw the man's gun enter the doorway, the loose stance and absolutely amateur grip telling Tony that the guard had had little to no practice with the weapon.

As the man's shoulders breached the door, DiNozzo brought his arm down on the man's gun arm sending the weapon flying from the now motionless fingers.

The young guard's eyes widened in surprise but before he could speak, Tony pulled him out of the doorway, slammed him against the wall, and held the knife against his jugular.

"Speak and you die," he hissed.

With his foot, he gently slid the door almost completely closed, keeping it open a fraction of an inch in case it was designed to lock automatically.

"Jason, everything all right?" he heard someone call.

He turned his attention back to the guard.

"Answer him. Reveal anything," Tony increased the pressure with the knife, drawing a small drop of blood, "and I cut you."

The guard's eyes widened even further than before, his eyebrows almost in his hairline. "'Kay," he managed, trying to keep his Adam's apple from coming into contact with the knife.

Tony pulled the blade away from Jason's neck about an inch, close enough to keep the guard from trying anything but far enough to allow him to speak without inhibition.

"Yeah boss. Everything's good," he stammered, his eyes never leaving the blade.

"Louder," DiNozzo snapped, applying a bit more force to the knife.

Jason repeated himself, this time without his stutter.

"Thank you," Tony quipped.

Before Jason had time to even respond, the agent backhanded the guard with his knife hand. The guard's head smacked against the wall and he dropped like a rock, remaining motionless in a crumpled heap on the dirt floor.

Breathing hard, Tony leaned heavily against the wall as he managed to grab the gun without collapsing himself. He knelt beside the guard, wrapping one hand tightly around his burning side, and searched the criminal quickly but thoroughly with one hand. His fingers landed on a small metal object on the inside jacket pocket.

_Oh please, let it be, please let it be…_Tony prayed as he pulled the object from a pocket. Oh yes, it was a cell phone.

He frowned at the display as the back-lit numbers swirled meaninglessly in his vision.

He hesitated a thought occurred to him. If he called Gibbs, would his boss even answer? Their last conversation had not ended on—well, let's just say _good—_terms and Tony had essentially called Gibbs out for avenging his family's murder.

Put in that situation, though, Tony was sure he would have acted the same way. He hadn't meant to say it, he hadn't actually _meant_ it either, but in the heat of the argument it had just slipped out...

He and Gibbs had always had their differences though, and if Gibbs came through for him on this one, Tony would do whatever his boss wanted. If the man could no longer stand to be in the same room as someone who doubted his abilities as a team leader and second guessed his every action, DiNozzo would leave, no questions asked…As long as Gibbs helped him out of this mess he'd found himself in.

It wasn't really as though he had another option: the adrenaline from his fight with McGee…god, the man was lying so still over there…was draining and he just felt completely exhausted, the product of being shot, drugged and abducted. He could not save his partner on his own.

They needed help.

And with that, he punched in the number, waiting impatiently as the phone began to ring and hoping the other man would have the decency to pick up.

* * *

_How's that for some quick updating? So, you know the drill, please take a second and let me know what you thought!_


	15. Chapter 15

_A huge thank you__ to all who read/reviewed the last chapter! Your response was unlike anything I had ever received before. It was positively overwhelming and so heartwarming. You guys are the best!_

_If anyone is looking for information about the upcoming Baltimore episode (yes, __I have found pictures), I have linked them on my Profile Page._

* * *

Tony waited silently as the phone rang once…twice…

_What was he going to do if Gibbs didn't pick up?_ _It's not like he could get McGee out of here by himself…well, he _could _but it was not a plan that was conducive to the betterment of McGee's current health._

Lucky, he didn't have to consider those thoughts for much longer since, before the third ring, he heard a soft click.

"Gibbs" barked a gruff voice.

He could safely say, with one hundred percent certainty, that he had never been so happy to hear his boss' voice.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was so dry, no words came out. He frowned at the handset, cleared his throat and began again.

"Hey boss," he croaked.

"DiNozzo." _Was that worry he heard in his boss' tone followed by a deep sigh of… _relief_?...or were the drugs Sheldon had forced him to drink starting to take effect?_

Apparently it was the former, for the statement was followed by a crisp "Where are you?"

"I dunno…some concrete room…probably underground." He paused, completely focused on drawing in breaths, as the simple act of speaking was becoming increasingly difficult.

He heard the sharp snapping of fingers and knew Gibbs was signaling someone to start tracing the phone call.

"Are you hurt?"

Tony snorted. He supposed it was a matter of perspective, really, whether he was hurt or not. Considering he had just had a death match with his partner of five years who thought he was a homegrown hit man, really, he wasn't hurt that badly, but McGee was—which was why they needed Gibbs here. Now.

"No worse than the…last time you saw me..." he lied.

Gibbs had been working with DiNozzo for ten years and knew not to put stock into DiNozzo's account of an injury. Their many cases together had proven time and time again that Tony could have a hole in his chest the size of a pizza and would still be insisting he wasn't badly wounded. While the question seemed pointless, it was worth asking just in case Tony decided to answer it truthfully.

"McGee with you?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah," Tony looked at the still figure lying across the room, not speaking again until McGee's chest had risen and fallen again. "You gotta hurry boss. He's hurt bad, doesn't know who he is."

"Just…line…'Ony." DiNozzo yanked the phone away from his ear as high-pitched static filled the line.

"I'm losin' you boss," he yelled into the receiver. Amidst the white noise, he heard a faint beeping. He glanced at the phone's display, cursing quietly as he saw the words "Low Battery" flashed across the screen.

"Stay. On. The. Line," Gibbs repeated loudly and more slowly, to be heard through the bad connection.

"Can't. Low battery," he informed his boss, watching as the screen flickered on and off.

"Don't hang up, DiNozzo—"

"Have to…keep the phone on…to save batt'ry. I'll see what I can do…" Tony gasped as the room tilted like a demented carnival ride. He almost dropped the phone as nausea flooded his system and he was forced to grab the wall with both hands to remain upright.

"You gotta hurry Gibbs…" he panted, biting his lip between words to keep the nausea at bay. "We need you."

He snapped the phone closed and focused on keeping the contents of his stomach inside his person. Gradually the nausea eased, leaving him staring at the two bodies that continued to undulate in his vision.

What was he going to do? There was no way in hell he was just going to sit here, twiddling his thumbs until Gibbs arrived. He had the utmost trust in his boss, but even Leroy Jethro Gibbs did not have superhero abilities to teleport him here in less than a minute. Plus, he wasn't even sure how long McGee could hang on without medical attention. The only way he could get McGee help faster would be to run some sort of interference for his boss, getting the layout of the facility and maybe channeling John McClane on a few bad guys who happened to be alone and preferably unarmed. While he wasn't particularly fond of leaving McGee here, he knew he would only be causing his partner more damage in trying to move him.

First things first: he had to do something about Jason first to ensure the guard wouldn't wake up and put a round through McGee's heart.

He shuffled over to Jason, noticing for the first time that the guard was almost in reach of the shackle. He rested one hand on the wall for support and grabbed Jason's pant leg, clumsily dragging the guard toward the manacle.

When he was within reach, DiNozzo fell to his knees, sliding the knife carefully back into his sock and laying the gun on the ground beside him so he could work quickly and with both hands. At the moment, it was taking all of his concentration to keep from collapsing so attempting to secure a shackle with one hand was probably not the best idea. Even with both hands working to bring the cold metal halves together, it took multiple tries before he managed to close the cuff around the guard's ankle.

For additional security, he removed Jason's cheap belt buckle with great difficulty and, after awkwardly pinioning the guard's arms behind his back, he wrapped it tightly around his wrists. Slightly pleased with his small accomplishment, he gave the leather a strong tug, satisfied that the guard would not be able to escape.

Shooting one last glance at McGee, watching one more time as his partner's chest rose and fell, Tony picked up the gun and ejected the magazine to see anyone was stupid enough to trust this kid with a loaded weapon. Apparently there was someone, for Tony was able to count three, maybe four bullets neatly aligned in the clip. That was more of an estimate though—it was difficult to see the exact number while they were mashed into one large silver blur.

He hauled himself to his feet and stumbled toward the door, which had remained cracked open. He poked his gun out of the door, waiting to see if anyone fired. Hearing no gunshots, he carefully slipped out into the hallway, weapon raised. Short-lived relief rushed his system upon discovering he was the hallway's sole occupant since he wasn't entirely certain he could have hit one of Sheldon's men even if he wanted to.

He quietly pulled the door closed, wincing as it made a small creaking sound. He froze and listened for approaching footsteps, doors clanging closed, anything at all that would indicate someone was interested in the disturbance.

But no one came.

After a long moment of silence, he let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding and stared blankly at the dead bolt. The thought of locking his partner in the room with one of Sheldon's guards repulsed him but, since McGee was having difficulties recalling his identity, it would not be beneficial for his partner to wandering around the enemy compound, assuming he ever woke up.

_Don't even think that, DiNozzo,_ he mentally chided himself. _When McGee wakes up. Not _if _but _when.

Well then, _when _McGee woke up, _if _he managed run across Sheldon, Tony knew the crime lord would shoot without a second thought, while McGee not remembering who he was or what training he had, might not. It was a catch-22—a lose-lose situation—but, for the second time in the last ten minutes, DiNozzo found himself without another option.

He knew he had to lock the door but hated himself for doing it. Sighing resignedly, he slipped the deadbolt closed, cringing as the sound reverberated through the empty hallway.

Tony pushed away from the door and staggered down the hallway, stumbling from wall to wall like a human pinball. He was listening for footsteps or other signs that someone might be approaching but the sound of his own breathing was drowning out all other noises.

Eventually, he came to an intersection. As he paused to catch his breath, he awkwardly withdrew the knife from his ankle and managed to scratch a shaky "X" into the brick. He had never been much of an outdoors man, but he knew enough from films like _127 Hours _that it was it was important to leave a trail. Especially if he wasn't able to find Gibbs, he would at least be able to give directions to someone about McGee's whereabouts.

"_You left your partner behind!"_ a deep voice boomed, the words echoing throughout the empty chamber. Tony spun around, looking for the cause of the voice, but found he was the only one in the hallway. A split second later, DiNozzo realized the voice sounded faintly like Gibbs', if his boss' voice had been run through one of the fancy programs on McGee's computer and had become deeper and more drawn-out.

"_Haven't I spent the last ten years telling you about Rule One? And look at you now. The first sign of trouble and you head out, leaving your partner to die while you cower in the intersection like a scared child."_

"That's not true, I'm going for help," Tony corrected the voice, slapping at the air around his head to ward off any additional suggestions.

"_Sure you are,"_ the voice mocked, not dissuaded by DiNozzo's gestures. _"That's why you are just standing here?"_

"I'm _standing here_," Tony parroted, glaring intently at the three-way stop, "because all the hallways look alike in this place. It's like they purposely designed it to be a maze."

If the voice had a response, it wasn't heard, having been overshadowed by the intense level of concentration Tony was evoking to choose a way out.

He looked right, unable to see much past about an arm's length in front of him. He tried hard to focus on the passageway, but discovered was unable to see anything besides the far end of the hallway. It danced animatedly—condescendingly even—in his field of vision, prefaced by a long dark tunnel. Other than the far wall, he could only see black, though there should have been enough light in the building to allow him to see where he was going.

He shook his head to clear his vision, which is quickly discovered was a bad idea as the nausea swelled again within him. He clung to the wall like a drowning victim clutching a life preserver until the nausea diminished for a second time.

"Make up your mind, DiNozzo," he commanded his self-conscience in a low whisper. "Left or right, it's not that difficult."

He glanced down the left wing, which looked no more promising. Right was as good a direction as any, he decided, tucking the knife back into its impromptu holster. He staggered down the hallway, barrel of the S&W directed at the floor as per the standard operating procedure of every law enforcement agency. His one arm remained wrapped tightly around his smarting torso as if the meek support was the only thing keeping him upright.

He stumbled along, unable to judge how far he had travelled. The additional intersection seemed infinitely far away and he didn't appear to be getting any closer to it, no matter how long he thought he had walked.

Just before he was seriously considering turning around and trying the left passageway, one foot caught around his opposing ankle, depositing him rudely on the floor, and knocking the wind out of him.

Still lying flat on his stomach, he looked back at his feet, seeing a small raised root of some sort. Temporarily unable to speak, he mentally directed a few choice words at the small plant which was apparently capable of literally bringing him to his knees. As his breath returned, he took a quick inventory, determining his fingers were still tightly wrapped around the gun, and other than mortally embarrassing himself, he appeared to have done no further damage.

The cell phone! It had been sitting in his hip pocket, meaning he had probably landed directly on it. He hurriedly slipped it out of his pocket, and saw that, though the screen was cracked, it was still blinking. Blinking was good, that meant the device was just mostly dead, which meant that it was still partially working. Assuming someone had managed to get a trace on it, Gibbs should be arriving soon...

"But that depended on where you are," the voice offered helpfully, only now, it sounded feminine and familiar…not Ziva's…not Abby's...

_Oh God__…_not again.

DiNozzo flipped himself onto his back and scooted away from the voice. He saw the brown hair swirling wildly around a lightly tanned complexion, the soft smile, and smelled the unobtrusive lavender scent… he squinted and the face came into view.

"You're not real," he stated to Kate Todd, rolling onto his knees and forcing himself back to his feet, grasping the wall for additional support.

"You in the habit of talking to dead people, then?" Kate asked, reaching out her hand to help her former partner.

Tony ignored the gesture, knowing Kate was a delusion: he had seen her die, seen the bullet slice right through her, felt her warm blood splashing onto his face as he watched her fall, her face permanently contorted in a look of surprise. Her demise had been so quick she never had had time to feel pain.

_Be grateful for small miracles, _Ducky had said after declaring her time of death.

There was no way that had been an act: Caitlin Todd was dead—he'd visited her in autopsy, watching, hoping that her eyes would open and she would breathe again, he'd attended her funeral, saw her family mourn the loss of their youngest daughter as she was lowered into the ground…

He heard the light footfalls and turned his head to see Kate walking alongside him. "You gonna leave me behind, Tony?"

"You're a figment…of my imagination," Tony repeated, doing his best to block out the image that was travelling beside him as he lumbered along.

"This is not _Fight Club_…or the _Usual Suspects_…and you're not Tyler Durden…or Keyser Söze," he muttered as he managed to turn the corner with a repeat visit to the floor.

He half-expected a response from Kate, but there was only silence. He glanced to his left and saw that Kate had disappeared. Good, it was hard enough to think clearly with the drugs muddling his brain, he didn't need additional distractions that would keep him from finding a way out and leading Gibbs back to his injured partner that much faster.

He withdrew the knife and made his mark on the wall again, noticing a blurry, vaguely human-shaped object a few yards away, lying facedown on the ground.

He thumbed the safety off of the weapon and wobbled down the corridor. As he came closer, more and more details came into view: the gray hair…the height…the strange, half-shaved haircut…

Gibbs! Tony broke into an awkward run that consisted of pushing off the wall with each step until he had reached his boss. He collapsed beside the Lead Agent, not caring that the motion drove tendrils of pain into his lower body.

_There was no way his boss was here already_, he tried to tell himself, trying fervently to rationalize the situation. He hadn't called that long ago…or maybe he had…how long had it been? He had completely lost track of time as he had stumbled down the never-ending corridors, fighting off his drug-induced visitors.

He dropped the gun, fear racing through him as he noticed the blood flowing freely down the side of Gibbs' face. He reached out with shaking fingers and brushed the whitening hair away from his boss' temple, grimacing as he saw the deep gash from where the blood was spouting. Though it was certain a horrible wound, it was not—should not be—lethal.

He gently flipped his boss over, gasping in horror as he saw the blood and bruising on his boss' face and the light blue eyes that stared blankly into Tony's own. He held his breath and reached for the general area of the carotid artery. He pressed harder, willing himself to find a pulse, but currently unable to find any movement beneath his quaking fingers.

"No…" he breathed, jabbing his fingers deeper into Gibbs' neck, but the results were the same. "NO!"

He pressed his ear against his boss' chest, wanting more than anything to hear the pounding of a heart beneath the ribcage.

After a quiet second, he pulled back and interlaced his fingers, beginning chest compressions while he barked out the number of repetitions.

"C'mon boss!" he shouted, pushing on his boss' ribcage with all the strength he could muster. He was no longer tired, no longer worn out. He didn't know where the strength came from to help his mentor—and frankly he didn't care—he just hoped it would last long enough to save the older man.

"C'mon Gibbs! Breathe!" He stopped the compressions and pulled away, straining to see if his boss' ribs rose and fell of its' own accord.

Tony was reaching for his boss' chest again, ready to continue compressions when Gibbs eyes flew open. His face began paling visibly like the cheesy special effects in any B flick, his wrinkles evaporating and his skin taking on a marble-like quality. His mouth twisted into a cruel sneer and Tony saw his eyeteeth elongate until they had passed his chin, blood dripping down the canines.

DiNozzo was unable to move, staring transfixed at the changes occurring in his boss' face. Without warning, Gibbs sat up, his eyes landing on the blood leaking from DiNozzo's cheek, and, in that instant, Tony saw the unrestrained craving written within them.

Images of his childhood, his black canopy, his mother and her Louis XV obsession flashed through his mind. He let out a strangled cry and scrambled out of vampire Gibbs' reach. Tony took refuge across the room, holding one hand out to protect himself from any additional attacks from the hungry vampire. He glanced across the room, his eyes landing on the gun he had discarded next to where vampire Gibbs had been lying. Dammit.

A small voice in the back of his head told him it was all a delusion, but the rest of his brain was working so exhaustively to bring to light one of Tony's worst bête noires that the voice of reason remained unheard.

"He's not real, he's not real," Tony whispered under his breath, willing the approaching vampire to disappear. "You're just hallucinating. He's not real, he's not real…"

DiNozzo bent down and pulled the knife from its sheath, holding it at arm's length, wishing he had a stake or a crucifix to use as a better defense.

"You stay away from me. I will use this," he told his delusion, as if it would actually listen to him.

"DiNozzo." That sounded like Gibbs' voice. As if it weren't bad enough that his mind was feeding his vampire phobia, his imagination had also managed to make the vampire sound like Gibbs…

Unbeknownst to DiNozzo, Gibbs was actually present, having heard his Senior Field Agent's voice as soon as he had entered the basement of an abandoned home in southern Maryland. Gun drawn, he had crept from room to room, barely making a sound, a skill born from many years of military training, until he had heard a faint crash from beneath the wood floor.

He followed the sound until he arrived at the hallway from where the voice was resonating. His heart skipped a beat as he turned the corner to see DiNozzo cowering against the far wall, knife grasped in a quaking hand, yelling something about not being real to a vacant room. Abby had been right about the side effects of that drug Tony had been consuming over the last week: his agent was clearly exhibiting irrational behavior.

Rage flowed through his veins as the physical manifestations of Sheldon's twisted plan for paroling his brother became apparent and Gibbs vowed the man would be held responsible for what he had done to his agents.

The Marine took another step forward and lowered his gun, not wanting to further startle the already spooked man. "Gibbs coming in," he announced loudly.

Tony whipped around at the voice. The Lead Agent was momentarily taken aback by the pure, unrestrained terror in his agent's normally reserved green eyes and the confusion wrapped around the prevalent lines of pain in his face.

"Boss?" Tony asked softly, spinning back around to where vampire Gibbs had just been standing, inches from his outstretched knife, but the delusion appeared to have vanished, just as Kate had earlier.

He heard someone kneel next to him and felt rough, calloused fingers beneath his chin, tilting his face towards his own. Tony allowed the motion, following it with his knife arm. He jabbed the blade into the man's stomach, though not with enough force to puncture the skin…yet.

Tony wanted nothing more than to believe that his boss was really here, but given the past few hours, nothing would surprise him. His mind was dredging up people and fears of past, preying on his hope that his boss was coming, so he had to be prepared for the very real possibility that this Gibbs was just an illusion as well.

"Its okay, DiNozzo. I'm really here," Gibbs coaxed, feeling the sharp blade in his belly. Without taking his eyes off his agent, he carefully withdrew his hand from his agent's face.

"I don't believe you," Tony said, his voice sounding small and uncertain, two qualities that were not normally associated with Anthony DiNozzo.

Gibbs took a deep breath, fighting to maintain his trademark stoicism while his parental instinct raged within him. "That's okay," he began, very calmly and very slowly. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?"

"Smile," DiNozzo demanded, almost without hesitation.

"What?" Confusion flitted across Gibbs' face at his agent's strange request.

"Smile." Without removing the knife, Tony pulled up the corners of his mouth, exposing his neatly aligned, perfectly normal teeth as an example.

_What the hell,_ Gibbs thought and repeated the gesture.

"No fangs," Tony murmured to himself. Before he withdrew the knife, he had to be sure that this was the real Gibbs. Now, what was a question only the real Gibbs would know?

_Aha!_

"What are you building in your basement?" he questioned, watching the man's face closely for any signs of deception.

Gibbs locked stared with his agent, refusing to look away as he answered, "A boat."

The man knew Gibbs was building a boat in his basement, though it wasn't exactly the world's best kept secret. Best to ask another one…just to be sure.

"Favorite alcohol beverage?"

"Bourbon."

Wisps of hope began seeping into Tony's disbelieving attitude. The man had gotten that one right as well: he was two for two.

DiNozzo narrowed his gaze at his boss before asking, "What's Rule Sixty-One?"

"There isn't one. They stop at fifty," Gibbs responded, deciding now would not be a good time to explain his additional rule to his second-in-command. He waited in silence, for either an additional question or to be stabbed with the small belt-knife.

He saw a small crack in his agent's bravado before the green eyes hardened. "What did I say to you when we first met?"

"'Get the hell away from my crime scene, you crazy bastard,'" Gibbs recited verbatim, recalling how that phrase had been followed by a vicious body-check and a six-hour stay in the Baltimore PD Interrogation Room.

After a long few moments, DiNozzo cautiously pulled the knife away. He wanted nothing more to hug his boss, so entirely glad that the Marine wasn't dead that he was willing to express the emotions that he normally kept to himself.

_That must be the drugs,_ he thought, managing to refrain from the gesture and keeping both his composure and dignity in tact.

_McGee._

He pushed off the older man in order to rise to his feet. "We gotta go…McGee's hurt…doesn't remember who he is…doesn't remember who _I_ am."

"Take it easy, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered, seeing Tony practically fall back to the ground, the exertion of standing proving to be almost too much for his body. Just when he thought he was going to have to catch his Senior Field Agent, Tony straightened up and pointed down the hallway.

"C'mon Gibbs…." He urged, following his boss' gaze to his side.

"I'm fine! McGee's worse off than me!" he motioned jerkily down the hallway.

The blood leaking from his protégé's cheekbone; his pale, gaunt face; the way his eyes jerked from side to side as if he were expecting to be attacked at any second; the uneven breathing; and the way his arm never left his side did not escape Gibbs' notice, but the Lead Agent knew better than to argue with a DiNozzo who had his mind made up.

He slipped the gun into the waistband of his jeans and followed the Italian down the long hallway.

Tony's face quirked into a small smile as he saw his boss rise from the ground. Without taking the time to focus on the placement of his feet, he took another step forward and almost face-planted as his knees gave away. Before he had fallen more than a few inches, a strong hand grabbed the back of his shirt and held him off the ground until another looped under his shoulders, pulling him back into a standing position.

"I got ya, Tony," he heard his boss say.

DiNozzo extracted himself from his boss' grip, wanting to prove to his boss that he was capable of _walking_, but the second he succeeded in standing alone, the ground swayed dangerously and he came with inches of tasting the dirt again. Thankfully, his boss caught him a second time, slinging his right arm over the older man's shoulder.

"Stop fighting, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered, not wanting his agent to injure himself further by trying to prove that he didn't need help walking. He knew DiNozzo would rather crawl on his hands and knees to where McGee was being kept instead of leaning on him, but right now, he did not have time to crack open that thick skull and inform his agent that accepting help was _not _in fact a sign of weakness.

"Made…Xs…" Tony pointed to the childish scratch he had gouged into the wall as they came to an intersection.

"That's good work DiNozzo," Gibbs complimented, shifting his grip on Tony's arm so they could turn the corner without incident.

"You hear that Ziva?" he asked loudly. Tony glanced over his shoulder for the Israeli, but he and Gibbs were the only two people in the hallway. He looked more closely at his boss, seeing for the first time the clear wire that wrapped around his ear. Well, if he didn't feel completely helpless as is, he was now _completely_ incapable of discerning that his boss was wired…Just another reason the famous "Team Gibbs" was better off without him…

He heard a tinny female voice speaking, though he was unable to hear the actual words. After a while, the voice stopped and Gibbs responded with a curt closing.

"You still with me, DiNozzo?" the Lead Agent asked when Ziva was finished informing him of her current position.

"Always…boss," Tony confirmed without looking up from the ground where he was completely absorbed in putting one foot in front of the other.

His boss nodded once again and the two continued toward McGee's position in determined silence.

Of all the things Gibbs was expecting to see as he rounded the corner, Caitlin Todd blocking their path, training a SIG SAUER on the two of them, was definitely not one of them.

* * *

_One thing I probably should mention is that this story follows canon details that the real writers (*sni__ff sniff*) have declared factual. __**It is not**__ AU, so I hope that clarifies the ending slightly. If you're still confused, shocked or what have you, don't worry. The beginning paragraph of the next chapter will explain everything._

_Speaking of the next chapter, y__ou won't have to wait long! It needs a few small edits but it should be posted within the next few days._

_As always, t__hanks for reading and please drop me a line to let me know what you thought!_


	16. Chapter 16

Once the initial shock disappeared, Gibbs realized that the woman standing in front of them was not Caitlin Todd: her cheekbones were more prominent, her brown eyes slightly further apart and her mouth smaller than those belonging to the Secret Service agent he had chosen eight years ago for his team. It was easy to see though how Tony could mistake her for the real thing in his current state, especially considering she was dressed in a style that was very similar to Kate's own and was wearing a small crucifix around her neck.

The one difference between the Kate he had hired and the woman standing in front of them was the imposter was holding a gun in a very relaxed grip, indicative of one who had had practice firing a weapon, one that was currently trained on Gibbs' heart.

DiNozzo felt Gibbs suddenly stop and glanced up from his feet to see the vaguely feminine-shaped blur in front of him.

"Go away Kate," Tony snapped before he squeezed his eyes shut, silently repeating his mantra _She's not real, she's not real_ under his breath.

"I can't do that, DiNozzo," the look-alike said. The timbre of her voice slightly higher than Kate's had been, Gibbs noticed, not that these small differences made any real difference to an incredibly-drugged DiNozzo.

"Tony," Gibbs began cautiously, shifting slightly so he was between the woman and DiNozzo, "that's not Kate."

The agent stared in shock at Gibbs, uncertainty flashing through his green orbs before he roughly shoved himself away from the Lead Agent. He slammed into the closest wall, pressing himself into the brick, as if sheer willpower could make him disappear into it.

"You're…one of them," he breathed. He had seen Kate die, so she was clearly a figment of his imagination, but if Gibbs could see her as well, that logically meant that he had imagined Gibbs as well. He _knew _even his boss couldn't drive that fast to get to…wherever they were...so quickly. "You see her too."

"Of course he sees me," Kate interjected. "I'm exist Tony. When are you going to believe that?"

"Never," Tony declared adamantly, his gaze flickering rapidly between the two delusions.

Kate scoffed at the younger man before averting her gaze towards Gibbs. "He doesn't believe we're real."

"Cos you _aren't_," Tony interrupted. "I saw…you die…and Gibbs doesn't see dead people."

"Tony," the man in question began cautiously, his heart panging as he saw the Italian recoil at the sound of his voice.

Ever so slowly, Gibbs carefully slid his hand behind his back until it came to rest it on the butt of his SIG. At the same time, he took a small step to his right, trying to put as much distance between him and Tony as possible. "You're being drugged, DiNozzo. This isn't what is seems."

Tony let out a dry, humorless laugh. "D'ya think? And what gave that away?"

"Don't listen to him, Tony," Kate interjected. "I'm real."

"Tony," Gibbs drew his agent's attention back to himself. "That's not Kate."

"I know," Tony confirmed, fighting to keep his emotions from running rampant across his face. "She's dead. And you're not Gibbs."

"Yes, DiNozzo I am." Another small step right.

"No, you see her. She'd dead. And you're being nice, calling me by my first name," Tony offered by way of explanation. His gaze flickered wildly between his two delusions which were standing on either side of him, keeping him from moving down the hallway toward McGee.

"I'm really here, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, never taking his eyes off the weapon aimed at his chest.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Tony's eyes slip closed and he slid lifelessly down the wall, his body jerking each time it came into contact with a brick outcropping.

Any hope that DiNozzo was in the same condition that Gibbs had left him evaporated the second he saw his agent collapse. It took every ounce of strength to stop himself from running over to where his agent lay and head-slapping the truth out of him. Unfortunately, however, that plan had no long-term benefits, so Gibbs held his ground, waiting for Kate to provide him with an opportunity to shoot that would not involve getting Tony shot a second time.

He carefully began pulling down the safety of his weapon as quickly and as quietly as possible so as not to alert the imposter.

"No, you're not," a quiet voice managed. Gibbs breathed a small sigh of relief as the green eyes flitted briefly opened. He never ceased to be amazed by Tony's impressive endurance, especially when someone he cared about was in jeopardy. DiNozzo would go to hell and back for his partners—in fact, he had done it a time or two in the past—but now even he appeared to be reaching his limit. Gibbs knew both of his agents needed medial attention, so, with increased haste, he slid the safety down a bit more, sensing his weapon was almost ready to be fired and shuffling over a few additional inches.

"You've got that right, DiNozzo," the woman pretending to be Kate said.

Her eyes widened as she noticed for the first time the distance between the two agents.

"Stop moving," she ordered the grey-haired man, nonchalantly aiming the weapon at semi-conscious DiNozzo and wrapping her finger around the trigger. Gibbs stopped dead in his tracks, glaring intently into the faux Kate's brown eyes.

"You see," Kate continued as if the older man's presence was just a sad inconvenience, all the while remaining nonplussed by Gibbs' stare, "he does not believe you. That is the perfect ending for this disastrous job."

"Why are you doing this?" Gibbs asked watching both the movement of the weapon and Tony struggling to remain conscious. He saw his agent's gaze landed on the barrel of Kate's weapon, his eyes widening slightly before he schooled his expression into one of fierce defiance.

"Why not? They said I looked like some girl they once knew, paid me handsomely for sneaking into his room one night and pretending to be this Kate person—she sounds like real prune by the way, not a fun person."

Gibbs bristled at the woman's harsh judgment of the former Secret Service agent but managed to keep his tongue in check before the woman added a bullet hole to Tony's previous injuries.

"Then I got the call to come here and pretend to be that Kate again, but your man didn't fall for it as well the second time. He managed to escape that room without getting killed by McGee—" Gibbs did not let the surprise he was feeling show on his face though he was determined to discover just what had happened in that room when this was all over. "—and get himself all the way out here _where_ he will watch you die."

"They pay you for killing too?" Gibbs asked loudly, masking the soft click of the safety as it slid completely off.

"That's my bonus." Kate raised her arms in front of her and squinted one eye closed. "Goodbye Agent Gibbs."

As her finger tightened on the trigger, Gibbs yanked the gun out of his waistband in perfect sync with her actions, slamming his left hand underneath his right as he brought the weapon in front of him. Before Gibbs could get off a shot, though, the woman's eyes flew wide open, the gun falling from her limp hands. Shock adorned her nearly perfect features and she collapsed to the ground, where she remained motionless.

Gibbs' expression mirrored Kate's own until he spotted the small knife sticking out of her back.

DiNozzo, who looked as if he would be knocked over by a small wind, had found the strength to throw a knife just over ten feet with deadly precision, effectively saving his life.

Gibbs kicked the gun out of Kate's grasp, not needed to take her pulse to know that she was dead: the brown eyes staring vacantly at DiNozzo told the entire story.

Tony was staring wide-eyed at the dead woman, breathing hard as his body struggled to cope with his quick throw. He knew he should be lucky he had hit her at all, but it wasn't as if he had really had a choice in the matter: he had heard what she had said to Gibbs, about how she had played him, about how she was going to shoot his boss, then there was what Gibbs had said about her not really being Kate. Anger flooded through his veins at how easily he had been deceived: he should have known better. That conversation he had had in his bedroom should have given him the answer, but no, he had continued to fall for her act and had almost gotten his boss killed in the process. The gravity of the situation struck him without warning, driving the confidence from his expression. What if he would have missed? He had no doubt that Gibbs could have handled himself, but he shouldn't always leave his boss to pick up his slack. He should have known earlier that someone had been impersonating Kate and that he was not, in fact, crazy.

He glanced again at the body, feeling cold shivers run up his spine as the remarkable resemblance between his former partner and the woman lying dead on the ground unnerved him more than he would have liked to admit.

Gibbs carefully squatted in front of his agent, strategically placing himself between his agent and the dead body.

"DiNozzo?" he asked softly, but Tony continued to stare through Gibbs as if the Lead Agent was made of air. He snapped his fingers in front of the Senior Field Agent's face, again receiving no reaction.

"Tony," he said a little more forcefully, gently reaching out and shaking DiNozzo's shoulder.

The touch had a stronger reaction that Gibbs had been expecting. Tony's eyes locked onto his, his empty look replaced by one of abject horror. His breathing increased and panic flashed across his features as he began to fight against his boss' grip.

"Hey, DiNozzo," Gibbs slapped the back of Tony's head, hoping this second touch would bring his agent out of his tailspin.

After a moment, the struggling diminished and the breathing regulated, though the terror did not disappear from Tony's posture.

"Gibbs?" DiNozzo asked uncertainly.

"Who else, DiNozzo?"

"'s it r'lly—"

The smack to the back of the head was all the proof he needed that he was, at least temporarily, back in reality.

"Let's have a look at that side." Gibbs reached for the bottom of Tony's shirt.

_No!_Tony panicked, _then he'll be too busy worrying about me instead of going to help McGee. _He shot out his free hand and latched onto Gibbs' own, keeping it from grasping his T-shirt. Though the pale hand was shaking, there was no mistaking the strength and message written in the gesture.

"Help McGee first…" Tony panted, "you can mother hen me…t'death...later."

"DiNozzo."

"Boss, I j's popped a stitch…I'll be fine. McGee has s'rious head injury."

"DiNozzo!"

"Gibbs," Tony's eyes locked onto Gibbs and his boss saw his mind was made up. There would be no arguing with DiNozzo until his partner was cared for.

The pride swelled through Gibbs' chest while he kept his face deceptively blank, was quickly replaced by frustration at his agent's uncaring attitude toward his injury. Sighing in resignation, he wrapped one arm under Tony's shoulder, and helped the man to his feet. The small gasp of pain that Tony emitted was quietly noted by Gibbs but not mentioned aloud.

Gibbs helped his agent away from the crime scene, all the while keeping Tony from staring at the woman he had just killed.

"Just…'round the corner…" Tony said, motioning with one quivering finger, his eyes landing on Kate's body for the last time despite Gibbs' best efforts.

_That was not Kate_, he reminded himself one more time before turning his gaze forward, more determined than ever to find McGee.

As the two of them stumbled clumsily down the final hallway, Gibbs felt a cold shudder rack Tony's person. He examined his agent carefully, noting the pink tinge to Tony's cheeks that sharply contrasted his pallid expression.

"You warm, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked nonchalantly as they turned the final corner.

Momentary fear flashed through Tony's eyes before he shoved his blank mask back into place. "No, b'ss."

Before Gibbs had time to respond, Tony reached out, pointing at a wooden door complete with a heavy dead bolt. The Lead Agent shot Tony a look that clearly stated they weren't through with this conversation before gently leaning his agent against the wall and drawing his gun.

"Stay," he told DiNozzo, creaking the deadbolt out of the wall and throwing the door open. He stepped into the room, gun panning the room. He saw McGee lying on his back, a thin jacket haphazardly crumpled a few inches away. There was also an unconscious guard on the other side of the room, shackled to the far wall.

Having determined there was no one else in the room, Gibbs clicked the safety back on his weapon.

"Clear DiNozzo," he called as he knelt down next to his youngest agent and reached for a pulse: it was faint, but present.

"You need to hurry with that ambulance, Ziva," he barked into the earwig, looking at the bluish tinge to McGee's nose. He slipped off his jacket and rolled it under the younger man's head in an attempt to open his airway. He sighed in relief as McGee's breaths deepened slightly and the horrible gasping desisted. He snatched the second jacket and shook the dirt off of it, waiting until he examined DiNozzo to determine who needed it more.

He turned around and watched his senior agent lethargically shuffle into the room, stopping just out of reach and leaning heavily on the wall, his face taught with pain.

"DiNozzo, I need to look at your side," Gibbs ordered.

Tony shook his head viciously. "Help…McGee…f'rst."

"McGee's gonna be fine," Gibbs reassured a troubled DiNozzo.

Behind Gibbs, Tony thought he saw McGee raise his arm and drop it back down on his chest. Either he was imagining it, or the Probie was waking up.

But instead of opening his eyes, McGee's hands began flying left and right without any conceivable pattern. Less than a second later, his entire body jerked once, his arms and legs flying into the air. Or…was he just imagining it? Well, it seemed pretty real, and the crazed choking noises that were escaping McGee's mouth _sounded _real.

"Gibbs!" Tony cried, pointing over his boss' shoulder as McGee slipped out from the jacket and broke into full-body convulsions.

Tony watched as Gibbs spun around, having begun turning before Tony had actually spoken, to find McGee seizing. Without a word, the Lead Agent rolled the junior agent onto his side, glancing at his watch to note what time the seizure had started. He was shouting into the earwig, but the words were lost in a blur of noise that thudded through Tony's ears.

DiNozzo stumbled backwards until he felt the rough brick in his back. With shaky fingers, he managed to lift the bottom of his shirt, wincing as he took in the ugly red wound which had just begun to bleed again. He had most definitely popped a stitch—McGee's bony elbow had made sure of that during their fight and his two meetings with the floor had certainly not helped the situation. Especially after he had torqued with everything he had in order to ensure the knife had landed in the imposter and not in the ground, he had been fairly certain he had felt yet another of the small sutures tear.

He thrust his hand against the gash, watching the blood drip between his fingers. Apparently, he had popped more than two stitches judging by the amount of blood that had soaked into his black T-shirt. He gave into his vertigo and slid down the wall, darkness encroaching on his field of vision.

Still looking at his partner who was continuing to spasm uncontrollably, Tony felt more helpless than he had ever felt in his entire life. He wanted nothing more than to offer his assistance, but his body was insisting on shutting itself down as quickly as possible.

"Gotta…save…McGee," he managed before his eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness.

* * *

Still tightly gripping McGee's shoulder, watching as the younger man continued to jerk crazily on his side, the Lead Agent turned back to see Tony slip into unconsciousness, his shirt finally lifting to reveal a scarlet-smeared skin and a bleeding side wound.

"Dammit DiNozzo," Gibbs swore as he slid slightly, grabbing the spare jacket with his one free hand and holding it against the wound while continuing to keep McGee on his side. He felt Tony's blood trickling through his fingers, showing no signs of slowing, while McGee continued to convulse wildly underneath his other.

Gibbs was not normally a praying man—he had experienced too much tragedy in his life to believe in any ethereal being who was in control of the fate of the world—but at that very moment, he prayed: prayed to every god, deity, or saint out there that his boys would be okay.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! Please drop me a line and let me know what you thought!_


	17. Chapter 17

_16 Across: ABC soap opera created by Nixon and Marland._

_Six__ letters._

Gibbs reviewed the few shows he knew were still on television and, upon finding none of them fit, he moved on to the next question.

_5 Down: _Gibbs concentrated harder, squinting as the words began to dance from line to line. _Played…Cooper Alden…_

_Ah hell. _Gibbs sighed heavily and scrubbed at his aching eyes before placing the book on DiNozzo's bedside table. He looked up, longing to see his agent cracking jokes about his worsening eye sight or him needing glasses on a full-time basis, but the bed remained eerily silent, his agent deathly still, surrounded by a multitude monitors and IV drips.

Suddenly, Tony groaned loudly and threw his arm with the IV into the air, muttering unintelligibly as he began to toss and turn rapidly. His unusually pale face was taught with discomfort and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut as if to ward off unpleasant memories.

Gibbs automatically reached for the nurse call button, his finger barely touching the soft plastic when Tony shifted onto his side and sighed contentedly, ceasing to move. The Lead Agent watched the thin red line dip and peak on the heart monitor, satisfied his agent was still breathing before releasing both the button and the breath he had unconsciously been holding.

It had been a long—he paused and checked the wall calendar—two days since he and Ziva had rescued Tony and McGee from the abandoned house in Maryland. They had split up upon entering to cover twice the ground and hopefully locate DiNozzo and McGee twice as quickly. As Ziva had headed back to the exit, having searched her entire side and come up empty, she had encountered both Fries and Talbot. They had drawn their weapons, Talbot managing to get off a shot before Ziva returned fire, hitting him directly in the chest. Fries who had been hiding behind a far column had surrendered after seeing his partner fall. Talbot was pronounced dead at the scene and Fries had been more than willing to turn state's evidence on Sheldon in exchange for a shorter sentence.

True to her word, Ziva had left the state troopers with Fries and had personally escorted the emergency medical technicians towards Gibbs' location. As the unconscious agents were being lifted out of the basement, DiNozzo had woken briefly, shouting McGee's name and thrashing wildly, trying to catch a glimpse of his partner in the adjacent gurney. When no amount of reassurance from the technicians had been able to calm Tony, Gibbs had placed himself into DiNozzo's line of sight and informed him that McGee was in capable hands before the painkillers combined with sheer exhaustion pulled his agent back into unconsciousness.

This excitement was followed by an agonizingly long wait in the emergency room, many platitudes to Abby and a silently fuming Ziva who informed Palmer that had a new torture technique she was anxious to employ on the man who had caused such damage to her friends. It was during this time that Metro reported that Sheldon had escaped a thorough canvass and the surrounding roadblocks. A gruff call to the new agent…Bartlett? Bacon?...ensured that the APB had been updated with Sheldon's latest description and his photo had been emailed to every law enforcement agency in the Tri-State area.

Finally, after the traffic in the emergency department had peaked and come to a standstill, did an avuncular white-haired doctor emerge and ask for the agents' families.

DiNozzo had been lucky, Doctor Sloan had informed the anxious team…relatively speaking. Other than opening his wound and running a low-grade fever, Tony was in relatively good condition. Doctor Travis, one of the best trauma surgeons in the hospital, had closed the wound and packed it so it would remain immobile, with strict instruction that the wound was to be completely healed before the stitches were _professionally_ removed. The hyoscyamine was expected to pass through his system in a few hours with little, if any, lasting effects. Finally, though he had added a few additional bruises to his collection, none were life-threatening. Agent DiNozzo was being given a dose of antibiotics to combat the minor infection picked up from the filthy room and IV fluids until he regained consciousness.

Special Agent McGee was a completely different story. The doctors had rushed him into a CAT scan the moment he was wheeled into the room having been started on an anti-seizure drip en route to Bethesda. The scan had revealed swelling in his cerebral cortex, the result of his additional head trauma; the fluid was pressing on the areas of the brain thought to be associated with memory storage, he detailed in accordance to what Gibbs had gleaned from Tony's broken speech. After a through examination which required multiple consults, the team treating McGee had decided to combat the swelling with a rigid steroid and diuretic plan, though they had been upfront in stating that if these methods were not successful, they would have to drill a small hole into McGee's skull to reduce the swelling.

With that news, the doctor had rollerbladed off, leaving a multitude of squealing nurses and fist-shaking orderlies in his wake.

The next twenty-four hours had been the most crucial and Gibbs, along with McGee's family who had arrived more quickly than seemed humanly possible, kept a vigil beside his bedside. As if drawing upon their support, the computer geek continued to fight, remaining stable and continuing to breathe on his own. After fourteen hours, the doctors were cautiously optimistic that the computer genius would not need the surgery for the last batch of scans showed notable reduction in the intracranial pressure. Though McGee had not yet regained consciousness, a very irate Gibbs had been assured by the medical staff that given the condition in which he arrived, this was not unusual.

Finally, after thirty-six hours, DiNozzo regained consciousness, immediately inquiring about McGee's condition. Upon discovering that his partner was doing as well as could be expected, he had allowed himself to suffer through the battery of tests and examinations about his identity and his current location. He was determined to remain awake until he had seen for himself that his partner was alright, but a stout nurse had other plans. Ignoring his objections, she had injected the IV with an additional dose of painkillers while he was concentrated on debating his current condition with Gibbs. With a scowl, he had valiantly fought the pull of the drugs, but ultimately was forced to surrender after being fixed with a deep glare from his boss.

And so Gibbs alternated between both agents' bedsides, a permanent fixture while McGee was taken to his nearest scans and Tony was visited every few hours by another attractive nurse.

He typically stayed as long as possible, the nurses turning a blind eye to his presence even after visiting hours were over until today when Doctor Sloan and Ducky took it upon themselves to see that Gibbs' visiting privileges would be revoked unless he left after visiting hours were over, showered and ate a decent meal not from the hospital cafeteria.

With a deep scowl, Gibbs grudgingly obeyed only after threatening the guards outside his agents' doors with the promise that if anything happened to his men, the guards would be resigned to mall cop status for the rest of their careers.

* * *

Exactly one minute before visiting hours were scheduled to begin the next morning, Gibbs marched into the hospital, his customary cup of coffee in hand. He stopped by the nurse's station and was informed that Tony and McGee were both improving and Doctor Travis had even slated Tony's release for the next few days assuming there were no setbacks. Knowing how thrilled DiNozzo would be to hear the good news, Gibbs walked into his agent's room, glaring pointedly at the guard as he passed.

His coffee cup fell from his fingers as he found the bed unoccupied but neatly made and the heart monitor disconnected with the leads lying in small coiled circles.

He drew his weapon and systematically cleared the room. Finding it indeed empty, he sprinted into the hallway and grabbed the guard's lapels, throwing him into the wall.

"Where is he?" he demanded loudly, knowing Tony's appointments with various doctors were not scheduled until later in the day.

The guard squirmed under Gibbs' sharp glare but managed to answer with some clarity. "He's with Officer Spencer. He said he had to visit his partner, said it was a matter of life and death. He begged me to let me go. He swore he'd be back before you were."

"And you _let _him?"

"We called the front desk and Spencer, one of the best cops I know, walked him between rooms and will walk him back when he's finished. I would trust Officer Spencer with my life, Agent Gibbs. Your man was in good hands. I wouldn't've let him go if I'd've thought otherwise…"

Gibbs glared at the man and shoved him into the wall one final time before releasing him. The man was sputtering something about not being reported but Gibbs was no longer listening, intent on getting to McGee's room as fast as possible.

As he turned into the wing, he breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Tony's voice floating into the deserted corridor. The guard was standing at attention outside though he had moved a few feet down the hallway in order to allow the NCIS agents some privacy.

"He okay?" Gibbs asked brusquely, flashing his badge.

"Never better," the long-haired guard replied, glancing up and down the hallway to ensure no one else was present. The corners of his mouth twitched into a half-smile and he took a few steps further down so Gibbs could take his former post closer to the door.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Tim," the Lead Agent heard Tony began with much hesitation, "but this always works in movies so I'm going to talk to you like you're awake…"

"You know how many Probies came and went while Gibbs and I were just a two-man team?" DiNozzo asked a lifeless McGee, tentatively reaching out and grabbing McGee's hand. He would never admit it to McGee, but the gesture brought him reassurance that his partner was still alive, and hopefully, alerted the unconscious man that people cared about him. "More than the amount of dates I had when I started working here. They were a dime-a-dozen—we didn't bother to learn their names they were kicked off the team so fast. But you: Gibbs cottoned to you right away, even with your stutter. He got your name right from the start and _that _means something.

"Six short years later, you finished the training manual: you've started to think for yourself and took the lead on that case last year. I'd hate to have to break in a newbie when the best one we've ever had is lying…here…" Tony's demeanor shifted as he felt an unfamiliar wetness behind his eyes. He paused to collect himself, cursing the nurse who had been insistent on dosing him with additional painkillers.

Temporarily unable to speak, he glanced at the clock, noting exactly how long he had been gone. It was imperative he returned to his room before Gibbs arrived so neither he nor the guard would get into trouble. With that in mind, he forced himself to relax and focused on what he needed to say.

When he spoke again, his voice was strained with emotion as he fought to keep his composure. "We need you, Tim, and I don't think I've ever told you that. You kept coming after me—you didn't remember who I was—I didn't want to hurt you, McGee. But you kept coming and I didn't have a choice. I didn't want to do it. You have to be okay Probie: I don't know if I can deal with the fact that I killed you…"

There was a small scuffle in the hallway and Tony looked up suddenly to see Gibbs standing by the doorway.

"Boss," he yelped in surprise, swiping viciously under his eye in case a drop had escaped. Though his hand came away dry, he stared expectantly at his boss, waiting to be reprimanded for eluding the hospital staff.

He most definitely was not expecting Gibbs to pull up a chair and sit beside him.

"You didn't kill him DiNozzo," Gibbs offered, choosing to ignore whatever Tony thought he may have seen.

"You didn't see him, boss. He came at me, calling me Jean-Paul Reinier, Gus Bricker…he wouldn't stop fighting: I had…I had to put him into a choke-hold, Gibbs, but he wouldn't give in. I was worried I was going to strangle him…" Tony shuddered as the memory returned to him.

"Tony." The Senior Field Agent continued watching the heart monitor until a rough hand under his chin forced him to make eye contact with his boss.

"That was _not_ your fault," the Marine said softly.

"But Gibbs—" Tony protested feebly.

"You saved his life, DiNozzo."

"It shouldn't have needed saving. If he hadn't broken protocol in coming alone to my place he wouldn't have gotten the second head injury, boss."

"He thought it was the right thing to do," Gibbs remarked without passing judgment.

"No, boss, that's the right thing for _me _todo. McGee makes checklists for brushing and flossing and considers every last detail before making a decision, then before actually going, he calls for backup."

There was a moment of silence before Gibbs spoke. "Tim's not a Probie anymore."

And there was truth to that statement, Tony realized. He knew McGee had blossomed into a very capable agent over the last few years but he was unaware the computer specialist had learned more from DiNozzo than he had intended. Secretly, he was proud that his partner had found the spine to throw the book out the window—not that he would ever tell McGee that—but he was also very touched that the subject of his pranks and McNicknames cared that much about him.

Though it was hard to think that one day Team Gibbs would no longer exist and that they would each have their own teams, McGee had already shown he was more than capable of leading his groupies down in the Cyber-Crimes unit and had continued to prove his dedication and loyalty to his team by acting against policy when the situation called for it. He no longer took Tony's jokes so spinelessly, actually giving DiNozzo a nickname of his own and needling his partner with all the force of the original barb. Despite all odds, it appeared Timothy McGee had grown up and there was nothing Tony could have done to keep him from coming alone to his place.

"I'm still going to kick his ass when he wakes up," Tony decided, staring pointedly at McGee's pale features.

A small smile flitted over Gibbs' face and the two lapsed into silence, this one slightly more comfortable than the last. Their fight and the harsh words exchanged were still weighing heavily on both their minds, though neither of the men knew how to approach the subject.

Finally, Tony could stand the quiet no longer. "About what I—"

Gibbs shook his head dismissively, knowing exactly to what his agent was referring. "It's covered."

"No, boss, it's definitely _not_. I didn't mean what I said…you have your reasons, I know that. I should never have doubted you."

"You were drugged."

Tony shook his head. "That's not an excuse, boss. I never doubt you, but sometimes I wish you'd let us in on your plans, ya know? The whole Lone Wolf thing's only gonna get you killed one day and I…well, I don't…"

_Damn these painkillers,_ Tony thought, looking away in embarrassment. He sounded like a child, worrying about his boss like this.

But when he glanced back at his boss, he saw the understanding in Gibbs' eyes. It would be weird working with someone who didn't know him as well as Gibbs did, Tony realized. In all their years together, they had developed this entire language build solely on stares, hand gestures and head-slaps that somehow sufficed to convey what Gibbs wanted done with as few words as possible.

Which brought him to his other point.

DiNozzo opened his mouth to speak again but, at that moment, McGee made a strangled noise and scrunched his face in pain. The heart rate monitor screamed as the beats per minute increased and the semi-conscious man began twisting wildly.

"He's waking up," Tony ventured hesitantly, keeping his face reserved in case this was another false alarm.

Gibbs pushed the nurse call button as McGee's motions became more violent and he began gasping for air. He stood and gently pressed on the younger man's shoulders, keeping him from hurting himself further until the nurse arrived.

He spoke the agent's name softly but with purpose, reassuring him that his team was there, until the fighting stopped and McGee's eyes slid open.

He glanced around the room in confusion, his gaze finally focusing on the man in front of him. "G'bs?" he rasped after a long moment.

Gibbs nodded, relief visible on his normally stoic face. "Do you know where you are?" he asked.

McGee's pain-filled eyes slid left, landing on DiNozzo. "H'sp'l," he replied, continuing to stare at Tony.

"T'ny," he croaked after a long moment.

"You remember me?" Tony asked cautiously, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

"'y w'dn't I?" McGee responded as his eyelids threatened to close.

Tony and Gibbs exchange glances but decided not to elaborate.

"Forget I mentioned it. How are you feeling?"

"T'red."

The nurse chose this moment to waltz in and, seeing her patient was awake, began evaluating him, taking note of his various vital signs and questioning him about his location as Gibbs had done only a moment ago.

Knowing McGee would be occupied for the next few minutes, Gibbs decided now would be the best time to clear up what _he _had said during the fight. "DiNozzo—" Gibbs began.

"I know," Tony interrupted, mistakenly assuming his boss was going to inform him that he needed to return to his own room, "but…the bed over there's empty and this way you could keep an eye on both of us at once…"

Gibbs looked over at the nurse who was watching their conversation while checking the bandage around McGee's head. "I'll check to see if anyone else is scheduled to occupy this room," she said without being asked. "If his doctor signs off on it, I'll allow it."

Finding the wound healing nicely, she left after promising McGee she'd return with his attending physician, but the drugs she had administered had already taken effect, pulling the Probie into a light sleep.

"Boss, I really am sorry," Tony said as he pulled himself into the adjacent bed with a final glance at his partner. "Drugs or not I was outta line."

"Debatable," Gibbs responded, sliding the chair against the back wall so he could monitor both of his agents at the same time.

Silence settled on the room as the Lead Agent pondered his next statement.

"DiNozzo, I—"

"Don't say it boss," Tony interrupted with a lopsided grin, "sign of weakness and all."

Gibbs fixed DiNozzo with his signature glare.

"Shutting up boss." Tony slouched uncomfortably into the sheets, hoping this was the end of the conversation. He had been in the wrong: there was no reason for Gibbs to apologize. He had been asking for it, continuing to second-guess his boss' actions.

"Remember what I told you when you thought you were going to quit the force?"

"Rule #5: you don't waste good," Tony recited by rote.

"Well, you're good, DiNozzo. In fact, you're one of the best. I'd hate to see you go."

Tony's eyes widened and his mouth literally fell open. Never let it be said one Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't direct.

"Really?"

Gibbs nodded once.

"Even after…"

Gibbs nodded again.

There was a short pause while Tony's brain raced to understand what his boss had just said. He furrowed his brow as he stared at his boss in shock. Did Gibbs really want him on his team after what he'd said? It was true he had been on Gibbs' team the longest which had to stand for something. Stan Burley, his predecessor, held the record for seven years, two of which were spent being referred to as Steve, before he had come along. Was that because Gibbs' really wanted him around or because it was better to keep an eye on the unknowns instead of assigning them elsewhere? But when did Gibbs openly lie to his partner's face? Sure, Gibbs tended to walk away without telling them where he was going, but that wasn't really _lying_ per say. He wanted to believe Gibbs wanted him around because the Marine was the only person who understood him at a level that surprised even Tony. Gibbs had the uncanny ability to see right through his mask and automatically knowing whatever it was that he was trying to keep secret.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stick around for a while, just until McGee was fully healed; he'd test the waters and see if they could return to where they had been as a team before this whole debacle. Plus, he _had_ just bought a new entertainment station custom-designed for his living room and he wasn't looking forward to having to drag that down the three flights of stairs in his apartment to return it, considering the hours he had spent getting it _in_ to his place.

He raised his eyebrows in question, silently asking both whether Gibbs was certain and whether he still had a place on the team.

"If you want it," Gibbs said in response to the second question.

"I want it," Tony affirmed with a genuine mega-watt smile.

Gibbs nodded once. "Get some sleep DiNozzo. We still gotta criminal to catch."

"On it…boss," Tony replied as his eyes drifted closed, exhaustion having hit him like a tidal wave.

For the first time since he had been assigned protection detail for Susanna Carson, his dreams were not filled with memories of those he had lost.

_He was __standing in an unfamiliar room—a young boy's room—walls covered in posters and concert memorabilia, watching as a dark-haired teen threw clothes into a bag._

"_I decided to do what my dad wanted me to do," Josh Cooper said._

"_Ah, I'm guessing he's not a big fan of Jello shots," Tony watched himself continue as he flipped through a magazine._

"_No, but he was a fan of Princeton," the boy glanced up, a resolute smile on his face._

_Tony __watched himself look up from the magazine, seeing the relief that washed over his face. He remembered being in that room for the first time and hearing that Josh Cooper had decided to finish college. He heard his cell phone beep and he watched himself reach for the device and examine the caller ID. He knew Gibbs was calling. He glanced back up at the boy, but discovered he was no longer sitting in Josh's room._

_Instead, h__e was standing in an abandoned prison cell, intense heat radiating from the thick stone walls. He heard scuffling and watched himself, Ziva and McGee stumble awkwardly from their prison cell, all three bloodied, bruised and grimy._

"_You saved me, Tony." DiNozzo spun around in the hallway to__ find a perfectly healthy Ziva David leaning against the far wall, her hair lying in soft waves against her radiant skin, while the rag-tag crew continued to hobble awkwardly towards the exit. "You did that for me."_

"_I'd have done it for any of you__," Tony shook his head dismissively, not sure of the point of this conversation. The three turned the corner and heard a loud bang, which Tony realized was the sound of Gibbs taking out the final guard._

"_But that's just the point, Tony," Ziva said as she sauntered up to him and ran her hand gently down his jaw line. "You do so much good here at NCIS but you refuse to acknowledge it. I'm not sure anyone else would have come for me if you had not been so adamant about my rescue." She paused, struggling to come up with the right words to express her feelings. "I owe you everything. Please, do not forget that."_

_She tapped him gently on the cheek and __the world spun around the two of them. When it stopped, Ziva had disappeared and Tony was standing on a wharf, watching as he gave CPR to a soaked Gibbs while Maddie Tyler lay a few feet away. Neither of the two was breathing._

_He cringed as he hear__d himself yelling at his boss to breathe and watched the absolute horror on his face as he made the decision to stop giving CPR to his boss and starting to assist Maddie. Just watching the scene brought back the lump in his throat and the knots in his stomach that he had experienced on that very day, not knowing if his boss would have survived._

"_Did you forget, DiNozzo?" Tony whirled around t__o see Gibbs standing behind him with two cups of coffee in his hands. He silently offered DiNozzo the one on the right. Tony suspiciously accepted it, sniffing it once before taking a small sip, practically sighing with pleasure as the warm mocha slid down his throat. _

_He took one more hearty sip before responding. "No, boss. I could never forget."_

"_You didn't stop," Gibbs stated, taking a long draw from his black coffee._

"_Couldn't__."_

"_What makes you think you're any less important to us, Tony?" Gibbs asked, leaving Tony to watch as his boss' eyes fluttered open and he began to expunge the Potomac from his lungs._

In the hospital room, Gibbs watched the strife in his agent's face fade away, the tension flowing out of his person in almost palpable waves. A small smile tugged at the corner of DiNozzo's mouth as he drifted into what Gibbs knew was a deep, healing sleep.

And in that moment, the Lead Agent knew that his team was on its way to making a full recovery.

* * *

___Thanks to all who stuck with this story: your alerts, reviews and favorites were greatly appreciated and a huge motivator to get this chapter posted. Last chapter should be up soon!_


	18. Chapter 18

_Many thanks to funkyfreak__, the real life Anthony DiNozzo._

* * *

McGee couldn't sleep. There was something he wasn't remembering, something the others didn't want him to know. He had seen the looks that passed between DiNozzo and Gibbs, the almost hesitant way Tony approached him, and the small acts that were supposed to go unnoticed such as the slippers that magically appeared at the foot of his bed when his feet started to get cold and the Nutter Butters that were slipped onto his food tray that the on-duty nurse pretended to ignore. He knew the culprit was DiNozzo for Abby was far less subtle and Gibbs and Ziva were not the small gift-giving type, but what was with all the secrecy? What had happened after he had discovered Sheldon's brother was up for parole in the NCIS bullpen and the time he had woken in the hospital that was invoking this reaction in his partner?

All he had been told was that the two of them had been manipulated from the start in a dramatic plan to get Sheldon's brother released on the grounds that his two arresting agents were either dead or in a psych ward. With no one to testify against Mark Sheldon, the chances of him being released were high considering the model prisoner he had been these last four years. In interrogation, Fries revealed that it would have drawn suspicion if both agents were found dead so Sheldon had plotted to have Tony committed since his testimony as Lead Agent carried more weight than McGee's. They had bribed Keenan, the witness to the murder of Petty Officer Jackson, to say that he had seen two of Iniguez' known associates carry out the murder in order to get NCIS on the case. When he had gotten cold feet and wanted to tell the truth, they had him shot and refocused the case in a different direction. Susanna Carson had been collateral damage: her sole purpose was to plant the seed of doubt and uncertainty in DiNozzo's mind and a few thousand dollars had been all the motivation needed to get the Kate Todd look-alike to pretend she was the former Secret Service Agent. The fact that she had had substantial firearms training and had no qualms about killing was only a bonus in their eyes.

When the Leavenworth police heard of this elaborate scheme, the judge had immediately denied the Mark Sheldon's appeal. The younger Sheldon would serve the rest of his sentence without parole and maybe some additional years if they could prove conspiracy in the plot to get him released.

Which left Tim to worry about what had happened in that cell in Maryland. He had borrowed his sister's laptop while she was sleeping, hacked into the NCIS server, and located the case file. In the crime scene photos, there appeared to be evidence of a struggle, maybe even a fight, judging by the patterns in the dirt floor, the traces of clothing fibers imbedded in the walls and the two distinct blood types with small splatter patterns. But the pictures stopped there, not revealing anything about who was involved.

McGee had heard from Abby who had eavesdropped on a conversation between DiNozzo and Gibbs that Tony had knocked out the guard—had _that_ been the fight depicted?—and called Gibbs who had swooped in, guns blazing. Fighting the effects of some hallucinogen, DiNozzo had managed to kill the Kate Todd imposter, effectively saving Gibbs' life, though McGee had no doubt the Lead Agent would have somehow managed to save himself had Tony not been conscious.

He had read through Gibbs' and Ziva's reports and had gleaned no new information. He eagerly anticipated Tony's report revealing the answers but either it had not yet been uploaded into the system or was being kept private for reasons unknown.

While he was waiting for the report to appear, he mentally dug through the memories surrounding that day in hopes that one would trigger the events of those lost two days but time and time again he came up blank. He wanted to ask but was afraid of upsetting the already delicate balance between him and DiNozzo—not that Tony would ever admit that something was bothering him, but McGee could see the slight strain in their conversation despite Tony's assurances nothing was amiss. So he suffered in silence, forcing himself to remember.

But this awkward gap left him with even more questions: if no one wanted to talk about what had happened, did that mean he had experienced some horrific trauma? He had bruises around his neck and face that he had not had before arriving at Tony's home and he had a shallow gash on the back of his head where he had been hit with Tony's faux Oscar statue that was currently residing in Evidence…Had he been tortured? He didn't think so, considering the damage done was not that severe. DiNozzo had a few additional bruises though: had the assailants been evenly dividing the blows?

Had he even been conscious for any point of that incident?

Only time would tell. The doctors had said that he may never remember that period of time and that he should be satisfied he had regained all that he did, but it was not enough for McGee. He needed to know, especially after he saw the utter relief that had crossed Tony's face when Doctor Travis had shared that information. What had gone on in that cell was clearly something Tony did not want him to know, which made the stubborn genius want to remember it even more.

As the days passed, he recovered the bulk of his memory, thanks largely to his family who filled his room with pictures, diplomas and papers lest he forget all he had accomplished. By the end of his term at the hospital, the only event he would not recall was his time spent in Maryland. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch, the knowledge of the missing data was so infuriating it was driving him utterly insane.

As the clueless seconds drifted into fruitless minutes which morphed into frustratingly empty days, McGee slowly became more and more complacent with the fact that he may never remember what had happened. If it had been something traumatic, he came to realize that maybe it was better if he didn't know. So he put his quest on the back burner, realizing that if he was meant to remember it, he would.

Then, in a skull-splitting moment of clarity, the night before he was set to be released, he did.

* * *

The next morning, Tony waltzed into the hospital, flashing the very attractive nurses with his mega-watt smile as he burst into McGee's room.

"Ready to go home, Pro—What's wrong?" he quickly sobered as he saw McGee sitting on his bed, legs dangling over the edge, his head buried into his hands.

"I remember," the younger man breathed, his voice barely audible.

Tony cautiously lowered himself onto the bed, unsure of how to act. "Most people would say that is a good thing," he ventured, hoping that McGee was not remembering…

"We were in that room…in Maryland."

Well damn. Apparently that was exactly what he was remembering.

"I—I don't know what happened but I hear myself saying awful things and I see myself charging…You! We were fighting….and I think…I think I'm trying to kill you."

McGee turned suddenly, his eyes boring into Tony's own. "Was it real?"

Tony fought to keep his face blank, mentally cursing himself for not having a scripted response. He had bought into the good doctor's best case scenario that McGee might remain blissfully aware of that night's events and had not planned for the unlikely probability that his partner would in fact recall what had happened.

Which left him in the quandary: did he tell him the truth or did he lie? To lie would be to keep a potentially harmful secret from his partner, but to tell the truth would give the Probie an additional burden to bear.

The time Tony spent considering gave McGee for which the answer he'd been looking.

"I'll put in my transfer immediately," Tim informed his partner as he scooted to the other end of the bed, certain that they could not continue to work together after what had unfolded. Tony was a fairly forgiving guy assuming you didn't try to blow up his car or call him to work during the _Magnum P.I. _marathon but an incident like this would surely be too much for him to handle. After all, what did you say to someone to whom you tried to do bodily harm? _"I'm sorry, now let's go find a killer?"_ Somehow those words didn't seem strong enough to express the utter horror he felt for his actions.

"You know, I was good in the CyberCrimes unit. They looked up to me, respected me…"

"You're not transferring, McGee," Tony stated firmly.

McGee looked up in confusion. "But I tried to kill you. Why would you still want to work with me?"

Tony snorted. "That wasn't your fault McGee. You had a severe head injury. I'm just glad you're alive."

"But that doesn't change the fact that I charged you, made us fight…"

"Tim, you were hurt," Tony explained slowly. "I'm not going to deny that its completely horrible to have your partner honestly believe you're a killer, but I know that something like that would never happen while you're healthy—at least I hope not," he added with a half-smile, trying to inject some levity into the conversation.

The smile dropped from his face as McGee buried his head deeper into his hands and let out an exasperated groan.

"How can you dismiss it that easily?" he asked. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive—"

"Stop it right there, McGee," Tony interrupted, putting up his open hand. "You are not going to blame yourself for this. You had swelling in your brain. You should be lucky you survived, not worrying about how you acted when you were sick."

McGee looked like he was going to argue, so Tony began again. "In fact, it kinda taught me that I may not have always been the nicest person to you. But I didn't know that was _all_ you were going to associate with me."

"Tony, you're you. I wouldn't expect Abby to give up death metal any more than I would expect you to not needle me to death on a daily basis."

The corner of Tony's mouth lifted slightly but his solemn expression revealed he wasn't convinced.

"Besides," McGee offered after a moment, "it's not all bad. I _do_ remember some good things..."

"That so?" Tony asked, intrigued.

"'When the going gets tough, the tough go clubbing'," McGee repeated verbatim, watching as a genuine smile lit across Tony's face.

"Things like that are kinda hard to forget: you coming over at midnight, making me stay up until God-knows-when."

"Abby made me," Tony lied. "She was worried about you."

Tim quirked one eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe I was worried about you, but don't get any ideas. This is a strictly professional relationship between the two of us. The day you start bringing little gifts to say you're sorry is the day I crack open the _How to Lose a Partner in 10 Days_ manual."

Silence settled in the hospital room.

"I heard what you did for me," McGee began after pausing to collect his thoughts, "from Abby of course. Gibbs wouldn't tell me—he said it was your story, but I know enough. You saved my life."

Tony waved his hand dismissively. "It was nothing you wouldn't have done for me. Oh wait, you did, a few weeks ago, at Carson's safe house," he added with a pointed look in McGee's direction.

"You're my partner," McGee shrugged, as if that statement explained everything.

Luckily, for Tony, it did.

The two sat in a thoughtful quiet for another moment before DiNozzo rose to his feet and clapped McGee on his shoulder.

"C'mon McInjured. Let's go home."

* * *

Kevin Bacon was lounging at Tony's desk, his feet between the_ American Pie_ coffee mug and the letter opener, flipping through a _GSM_ Best-Of edition. He stopped at the centerfold and turned it on its side to get the full effect. He was staring in slack-jawed awe when the phone rang.

The magazine flew into the air as Agent Bacon spun around in the chair trying to keep from tipping over. After a precarious wobble, the chair came to a stop and he snatched the phone from the cradle.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo's desk, Kevin Bacon speaking," the new agent panted.

"You weren't reading my _GSM_ were you, Bacon?" Tony accused. Since he was still on mandatory sick leave for another two days, Bacon's assignment with Team Gibbs had been extended. This was to allow the Lead Agent to work half-days in order to keep an eye on his healing agents.

"No, no, I wasn't," Bacon stammered, picking said magazine off the floor and smoothing the cover.

"You were on Page 57, weren't you?" Tony continued relentlessly.

"No, no, Special Agent DiNozzo—"

"_Very _Special Agent," Tony corrected."

"Whatever. I was _not _reading your magazine."

"Yeah, Bacon, and pigs fly. Look here: I know where everything is in my desk, so I'll know if you ate my mid-afternoon Snickers or my mid-morning Twix or if you tried to beat the high score on my Whack-A-Terrorist game. If I come back and even the slightest thing is out of place, I will cure you and send your remains to the nearest HoneyBaked ham factory, savvy, Agent _Bacon_?_"_

The newest agent gulped audibly. "Never, Agent DiNozzo. I would never—"

"Good. So put down my magazine that you were _not _reading and go order yourself some green eggs and ham in the cafeteria. My treat," DiNozzo paused to consider, "Or more aptly, Special Agent McGee's treat since I have been charging lunch to his account for the last four weeks. Maybe I should change that credit card number before he gets back to work. It's his own fault though, leaving it out on his desk. That's practically an open invitation to lift it…"

Kevin rolled his eyes while hastily restoring the coffee mug and the Mighty Mouse stapler to their original position.

"Cute, DiNozzo."

"Oh wait, it's Wednesday. The special today is pigs in a blanket. My bad."

Ziva walked into the squad room at that moment and saw the shell-shocked, yet slightly exasperated, expression on Bacon's face.

"Is that Tony?" she asked loudly, wanting to be heard on the other end.

"I'm hanging up now. Good work bringing home the bacon," DiNozzo announced, but before he could thumb the "end call" button, Ziva's voice came on the line.

"You are supposed to be resting."

"I was. A man can only rest so much. Gibbs works on his boat day-in and day-out and McGee spends more time sleeping than a polar bear. I'm going section eight here, Zee-vah! You've gotta help me!"

"You are keeping Agent Bacon from doing his work."

Tony snorted. "He's not working, he's reading my _GSM_."

Ziva glanced at the younger agent who shrugged.

"Well, he is _supposed _to be filing paperwork for Fries' transfer to the state penitentiary pending their trial," she said with a pointed glance. He recoiled slightly and scurried off to his desk at the end of the bullpen and began typing madly.

"Have you heard the news?" she asked, watching the breaking news bulletin unfold on the plasma.

"_In Washington, D.C., Nathaniel Sheldon, rumored to be the seco__nd-in-command in the famous Iniguez drug cartel, was captured shortly after trying to outrun the Metro police department," _the blond anchor reported. _"One of his known aliases, Jeffrey Spencer, was flagged at a routine traffic stop. In order to avoid detection, Sheldon led the police on a high-speed car chase along the George Washington Parkway that lasted for five minutes until he lost control of the vehicle. He did not sustain any life-threatening injuries and is being taken to NCIS where he is suspected of having some involvement in the abduction of Special Agents Anthony DiNozzo and Timothy McGee."_

"I hate that picture," Tony remarked as his employee photo was flashed on screen. He had also been watching the local news, though Gibbs had known about the crash hours ago and had long since left to take control of the scene. He had wanted to go along, but the Marine had threatened another week's sick leave if he left the house, so Tony reluctantly stayed behind. He convinced himself he couldn't leave McGee home alone in case something unforeseen were to happen, but that didn't make watching his boss leave without him any easier.

"It suits you," Ziva smiled at the long, slicked-back hair and the black leather jacket. "Very Travolta from _Saturday Night Fever_."

"Miss David, I do believe I told you to watch that movie," Tony said with a note of appreciation. "So technically, I get half-credit for the reference."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "How are you both doing?" she asked, switching subjects before Tony could start on a Travolta tangent.

"I've never been better and the Probie's all set to return to work next week if he's released by his doctor. He's got another appointment later today."

"Well, I am glad to hear that. I will stop by later but now I must go: Sheldon will be here any moment and I do not want to miss his interrogation."

"Ziva, Ziva, could you record that for me, please?" he pleaded, but the Israeli had already hung up.

He stared at the phone, contemplating whether or not to call Ziva back. Deciding she probably wouldn't answer, he placed it on the dining room table and walked up the stairs to check on McGee. The Probie was still sleeping, sprawled on his side and breathing loudly through his mouth.

He quietly walked by the open doorway, stopping when he heard a loud, "You're tiptoeing again."

Tony stopped in the doorway, watching McGee ease himself into a sitting position.

"Was not."

"Was too."

Tony smirked. "I do not _tiptoe_, McSleepy. I was just…walking quietly so you could get your beauty sleep."

"Your quiet walking could use some work," McGee returned, rubbing the lingering drowsiness out of his eyes. "It's like trying to sleep through an elephant stampede."

"Let's see you do better," Tony goaded.

"I don't have to do better. I'm not the one stomping around like a little girl."

Tony's mouth dropped open with mock affront. "I resemble that remark, McSnippety. You'd better be ready to defend that claim."

McGee narrowed his eyes and flung the sheet away from him, dangling his legs over the side of the bed. "_Call of Duty: Black Ops,_" he challenged, reaching for his laptop. "Last one still alive spoke the truth."

Tony scoffed at his partner's geeky suggestion. "That's to your advantage, Elf Lord. Basketball: one-on-one, game to 11. I'll even let you use the women's three-point line just to make it sporting."

"Yeah right, Mr. Varsity Team Captain cos that's _totally _fair," McGee retorted.

They paused to consider. "Five Card Draw," they said in unison, twin grins crossing their faces.

They dashed from the room, racing down the stairs in a tangle of arms and limbs, arriving at Gibbs' dining room table without further injury.

"I'm dealing," Tony declared, pulling the poker set someone had gifted Gibbs from a chest of drawers.

"You're on, DiNozzo," McGee vowed. He allowed him a small grin, glad the tension between the two of them had dissolved during their prolonged stay at Resort de Gibbs.

He pulled up a chair and steeled his game face, wondering at what point Tony would remember he had gone to MIT and learned to count cards from the best in the business...

* * *

McGee was cleared for desk duty later that day after having won the impromptu poker tournament by one hand without needing to count cards. It took an additional two days for the paperwork to get filed through Human Resources before he could return to work. Agent Bacon had been politely dismissed from the team that morning and had all but sprinted out of the room after having been the sole recipient of Tony's pranks for the past few days. The morning of McGee's return to work, coincidentally his last night staying at Gibbs', arrived…almost…without incident.

"No!" Tony gasped, staring wide-eyed at McGee as the elevator jolted to a stop, opening onto the orange walls of the NCIS squad room. "It can't be!"

"It's true, Tony," McGee confirmed with mild exasperation. "I have never seen _Hocus Pocus_."

"_C'mon_ McGee! It's one of the greatest Halloween films ever made after _Night of a Living Dead_, _Pet Semetary_, _Bram Stoker's Dracula_—which, by the way, was directed by the great Francis Ford Coppola—and…" Tony paused for dramatic effect before continuing with a game show announcer's enthusiasm, "_The Exorcist_ in first place purely for its disturbing and occasionally offensive nature. I watched it with a girlfriend once, late at night. Needless to say, it was one of the best decisions I've ever made."

Suddenly, Tony stopped dead in his tracks, throwing out his left arm. McGee saw the motion out of his periphery and awkwardly backpedalled to avoid being strong-armed.

"What the hell, DiNozzo?" he swore, staring irritably at the older man.

"I can't believe I completely forgot about _Carrie_!" Tony gasped in disbelief.

"Who is Carrie?" Tony jumped slightly at the sound of Ziva's voice directly behind him, his hand going to his side as the movement tugged on his healing side.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you it isn't polite to sneak up on people?" he snarled at her, trying to keep his heart from pounding straight out of his chest.

Ziva stared at him and raised her eyebrows in a very Gibbs-like move, waiting for him to respond to her original question.

Tony frowned at his partner. "_Carrie_ is not a _who _it's a _what_. It's a film about a socially outcast teenage girl who realizes she has telekinetic powers after enduring mental and physical torment by her friends and family, mainly her mother."

"Fascinating," Ziva returned, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, pushing Tony out of the way so she could access her desk.

"Sounds like a pointless movie," McGee contended as his phone beeped. He pulled out his newly upgraded iPhone 4, his eyes widening as he saw sixteen unread messages from Abby, most of them from Abby asking when he was finally going to check his mail and respond to her original email about concert tickets for Brain Matter later this week. Speaking of, where was….

"MCGEE!" he felt something crash into his back and arms and legs wrap themselves tightly around his chest. He smelled the faint aroma of gunpowder and awkwardly reached behind him to complete the hug.

"It's so good to have you back," Abby babbled excitedly without releasing her death grip. "It's been so empty here without you, and that Kevin Bacon," he felt her shaking her head rapidly, "not even close—"

He got whipped with her pigtails as she glanced left.

"TONNY!" she shouted, releasing McGee and heading for the Italian. DiNozzo froze mid-turn with barely enough time to brace himself before Abby slammed into him. The two of them faltered backwards but Tony regained his balance before the two of them fell.

"Good…to…see…you…too," he gasped as his air supply was cut off by the very excited scientist.

Ziva saw how purple his face was turning and decided to intervene on his behalf, considering it was his first day back and all.

"Abby, you are killing him," she said gently.

"Oh," the Goth gasped, releasing him and taking a step back. "Sorry."

"I'd forgotten what an Abby-hug felt like," Tony wheezed. Abby stationed herself between the two of them and slung one arm over each of their shoulders. She was tempted to handcuff herself to the two of them, but given the recent turn of events, she decided that would be a rather tactless idea. She would settle with almost constant video monitoring for the time being until she came up with a more sensible means to keep tabs on her agents.

"There's so much that's been going on since you left. Did you know Sister Rosita has been praying for you nonstop ever since you were admitted? You really should sent her a thank you note when you have a moment, and I got these tickets for the concert this weekend, but McGee, you haven't said you wanted to go yet so someone else asked but I said I would wait for you—"

"Have you seen the movie _Carrie_?" Tony interrupted before Abby's stream-of-consciousness speech gave him an unwanted headache.

"Well yeah, hasn't everyone?"

Tony motioned toward McGee and Abby's eyes widened in understanding. "Tell McOblivious here how _Carrie_ truly captures the essence of the good-old fashioned Halloween scare," Tony implored, knowing Abby was the only other person in the room who turned on their television occasionally.

"That right, DiNozzo?" Gibbs' voice came from directly behind Tony cutting off Abby's enthusiastic response.

Tony winced reflexively, prepared for the Gibbs-slap that usually followed such conversations and a surprise greeting from his boss. There was a long silence as he remained braced for the slap and Gibbs and Abby exchanged amused expressions over his bowed head.

"Gear up," Gibbs ordered after a long while, deciding to let Tony's conversation slide…just this once.

He grabbed his weapon from the desk and tossed McGee the keys to the NCIS van. "We gotta body in Norfolk."

Tony immediately picked up his gear and scrambled toward the elevator before Gibbs decided to change his mind about not head-slapping him.

To his credit, he was silent for the majority of the elevator ride before the overwhelming urge to make a movie reference became too great.

"You know…" he began after giving McGee a quick once over, "if I squint, you bear a distinct resemblance to Thackary Binx…I'm sure his nightshirt would go great with your David Niven collection—"

This time, he wasn't disappointed as Gibbs' hand connected solidly with the back of his head. Tony rubbed his crown thoughtfully, realizing just how much he had missed the sharp, stinging sensation.

"It's good to be back, boss," Tony said with a cheeky grin.

Though Gibbs did not speak, DiNozzo and McGee did not miss the swift glance that said, "It's good to have you back."

* * *

_So that's the end of _My Probie's Keeper_. Thanks to everyone who followed this story in whatever capacity: your support was absolutely incredible. I hope each of you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. __If you could spare a second, I'd love to hear your thoughts before you all abandon the proverbial ship._

_Until the next story,_

_u__sa123_


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